Impressions

  I have another confession to make.  I am bad about first impressions.  When I meet someone for the first time, I generally will have a first impression of that person that is usually wrong.  I have found that it is very important to get to know someone and not judge them on our first meeting.  Most people have some depth to them that surprises me.  I have heard that I am the same way to others.  One woman called me "deep" once.  I guess she thought of me as shallow, but then she learned to have more respect for me, and I for her.  Gert Weisberg was more than an old Jewish lady.  Her son was a championship bowler, and she survived the Holocaust.  To her, I was "deep".

 That brings me to the next two people I have met.  Another two who are very different by trade, but very similar in their trades.  The first was Mark Sanford, who was the governor of the great state of South Carolina.  It was 2009.  As I have said before, I try and find something that I have in common with the person I am meeting, so that we can have an actual conversation.  I was working the state Republican convention in Columbia for Lt. Governor Andre Bauer.  He was running for the office of Governor in 2010.  It was my job to greet people at the door, as they came into the convention center.  I saw Sanford come into the door with his entourage.  I stuck out my hand to him and introduced myself.  I told him that my cousin George was his doctor.  He brightened up and said that he loved George.  His entourage saw that I was working for Andre who was his rival, and he was whisked away.  A few months later, Mark would be embroiled in a scandal involving the Appalachian Trail, but that's another story.

 The next person was Pierre Cardin.  A famous French fashion designer.  I was working one night in the Sanger Harris record department.  Not too much was going on, when a nicely dressed short man came in with a younger and taller man.  I recognized the shorter man as Pierre Cardin.  He had been in town for a show.  Cardin spoke in French to the younger man, and then he came over to me to ask if we had an eight-track tape of "American Graffiti".  I told him that we did.  He told me that his boss would like to buy it.  All along, I heard Cardin speak things in French about me that were not flattering.  Thanks to my five years of French in High School and College, I knew exactly what he was saying about me.  His minion also knew what he was saying, but was pretending that it was just chit-chat, as he gave me the money for the tape.  As they were leaving, I told Monsieur Cardin that I knew what he was saying and that I understood French.  His face turned red, as did his assistant, and they scurried out of the door into their waiting limousine.  Thanks to Mrs. Busdicker, Mrs. Douglas, Miss Crocker, and all of my other French teachers, I was successful in putting this man in his place.  That felt good.  

 Both men got where they were in life by stepping on others' heads to get their way.  Sometimes, they can step in something else that they may have to scrape off of their shoes.