Seatmate, the Problem Wasn't the Tequila ...

Seatmate, the Problem Wasn’t the Tequila ...

I PROBABLY have one of the world’s most enjoyable jobs. I travel around the country talking about tequila.

I don’t mind flying, and even like talking to seatmates. Invariably, theconversations turn to tequila. Everybody has a tequila story, and it’s usually that they drank too much when they were in college and how they’ll never drink it again.

That’s too bad. They’re missing out on something great. I always like togive them a little education. And, of course, I tell them the problem wasn’t the tequila, even though they probably drank a really cheap brandback in school. It’s all about moderation, people.

When I’m traveling, my day can start as early as 5 a.m. It’s tough trying to find time to exercise, so I make sure I always pack my jump rope.

I was staying in this really nice hotel room, and decided it was time todo a little jumping. I was in a groove, and thought I saw snow in my room. I figured I was having one of those out-of-body athletic experiences, and maybe I should stop jumping.

So I did. And then realized that although it wasn’t snowing, tiny flakelike things were raining down on me. Apparently, my jumping caused the acoustic ceiling tiles to shred. It was the weirdest thing I’ve everseen. I did do a clean-up. I don’t remember which state I was in, but Ido remember the room number. It was 504. So if you ever stay in Room 504 and notice a slightly bald ceiling, it’s my fault.

In my line of work, you rarely take no for an answer. I was in a Washington restaurant, and I started to notice a lot of activity. These guys, all dressed in dark suits, started to case the joint. I’ve watchedenough movies to figure out they were Secret Service agents.

I asked the server what was going on, and she told me she wasn’t allowedto tell me. But, of course, I wanted to check it out. I asked the manager, who told me, in very hushed tones, that it was the first lady. Not too long ago, a story made the rounds about the president and first lady visiting a Mexican restaurant and they had a margarita made with one of our tequilas, Tres Generaciones Plata.

I really wanted to go over and introduce myself, and give her party a bottle of it. I figured, why not? I’m an ambassador. Kind of.

Well, of course, that didn’t happen. One of the Secret Service agents strongly suggested that I stop trying to meet the first lady. I took onelook at him and said that wouldn’t be a problem.

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