Three Rows Above a Cloud

"Every man has a place, in his heart there's a space, and the world can't erase his fantasies" Earth, Wind and Fire from "Fantasy"

It dawned on me that the nurse probably had a queue of flower toting suitors trying to sample her affections. She's attractive in a Morticia Adams with a fake tan way, morose but ultimately comely. More attractive than her surgeon enhanced physical self would have been her occupation. Hello, Nurse! Its a sizzling slice of nine-to-five. Right near the top of the fantasy causing vocations. Up there with naughty librarian, sexy stewardess, or Female police officers. It got me thinking about how a job can influence ones curb appeal.

The was never a time in my Dungeons and Dragons playing youth ( and you can bet my Wizard rocked some ass ) that I thought I would have a job that would make my scary facade desirable. Turns out I was as wrong as Lyle Lovett dating Julia Roberts. For 5 years I was employed in a manner that made me sexier than Javier Bardem sporting that quaff in No Country For Old Men. I was the bouncer.

Being the gatekeeper at an ale house is power. In the wrong hands its dangerous, but in the right set of mitts that power opens doors to myriad adventures and chances for experimentation. Ladies were on the menu for me for the first, and sadly only, time in my life. Famous athletes were not just patrons of the establishment, but they were my friends. Rock stars were inviting me to Vegas and backstage at concerts. Even Charlie Sheen, the Machine, knew who not to fuck around in my bar. It was fame on a small level, but enough to wet the old whistle. And once you get a taste for something like that a thirst, unquenchable and all-consuming, begins to build.

The first time that my "recognition" factor paid off I was at Angel Stadium. My beloved Minnesota Twins were in town for a three game set against the Halos. I worked in a bar literally across the street form the arena and w2as given a freebie ticket by one of the many greasy, unwashed scalpers that I dealt with every game day. This was no great seat, if it wasn't' the Twinkies I would have passed, but to support my team I figured, nose bleeds be damned, I'm going to the game.

Upon entering the Orange County baseball cathedral I spotted yet another of the bar's regular customers, Tracy. She was a cook, that's really all I knew about her at the time. Didn't know where she worked, just knew she was a pretty girl with a million dollar set of dimples. She gave me a quick hug and asked where I was sitting. Pointing to a chair three rows above a cloud my head lowered in shame. But Tracy had a better deal for me. Turned out she was the head chef at the Diamond Club, an exclusive members only clubhouse located directly behind home plate. It was a restaurant and bar, with in your seat waitress service, prime rib, full blown menu, it was plush. My new best gal pal escorted me down to a seat that, you know when you've watching a game on TV and there's always that obnoxious guy talking on his cell phone in the first row right behind the umpire, that was me. What Up, Minnesota! For a Twins game. Paradise, found. Before leaving she slipped me her number , pecked me on the cheek, and said that she had always noticed me at the bar. Hard not too being that I was 6'6" and standing in the doorway, but she meant "noticed".

After that day whenever I went to a game I sat in the Diamond Club. She would bring me special treats like beer and these killer nachos of her own creation. We planned to go out on a date, but it wasn't going to happen until the end of the season, because if it didn't work out, I didn't want to lose my ball game privileges. We did date, it didn't work, but she still took care of me at the ball park. The power of the doorman.

Ever had a job that made you feel sexy? Been treated better than you deserve because of what you do or did for work?

Dixie Cup of Love: Chef Tracy.