SKUNK DIAL?

Several million years ago, I wrote a story on maitre d’s. I called several big ones and asked them if a hundred dollar bill would influence them to move a customer up to the front of the line or procure a “better” table. To a man–yes, they were all guys–they said no. Until I reached Wayne Broadwell, who, at that time, was the front man at the Manison. He said, “Why sure, that reprioritizes everything.” Cut. Print. The magazine went to press. When the issue came out, management at the Mansion, who apparently had been waiting for an opportunity to relieve him from his duties, fired Wayne for his remarks. Needless to say, Wayne didn’t like me very much. He claims I misquoted him, but my trusty tape recorder doesn’t reprioritize words–not even for $100. Anywhoo, until last week Mr. B was happy as a tadpole in a roadside creek working his gig at The Catalina Room. I talked to him several times and he gushed how fabulous the job was, how fabulous Mr. Deere, the owner, was. It was all fabulous. That fabulousness ended last week. I reported that Wayne was moving to Riccardi’s at the Quadrangle. I thought he’d call me to explain what happened. Instead he called the Observer’s “Markie” Mark Stuertz. Read it!

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