Deadbeat on Deck

I saw him across the bar and couldn’t believe my eyes.

Unless the Stoli was playing tricks on me, I saw the one and only Mr. Maurice Cousin at the opening of the Stoli Hotel in Chicago.

No there isn’t a real Stoli Hotel but rather a slick, big bucks promotion to re-brand and re-introduce Stoli to the national market.

You know the type of party that has all of the arbiters of cool. The hipper than thou.

So I’m sure you’re asking yourself, “Why was Woody there?”

Hell, I was asking myself the same question.

While I’m the eternal dork, I do have friends who aren't. They're my entrée in the club world.

Plus I stopped believing in paying cover years ago.

Anyhoo…

There I was at the bar and Mr. Cousin walks up and orders a drink across the way.

You know how someone gives you the “Don’t you look familiar?” look.

He gave me that look.

When I didn’t look away and continued giving him a stare that went from uncomfortable to downright hostile I think it might of jogged his memory.

Deadbeat motherfucker.

The only reason why I didn’t go complete sista girl on his trifflin’ ass was because my friend was at a work event.

Albeit a work event with pretty people and flavored vodka.

Despite my longing to cause a huge public scene I kept my karma mantra in mind.

The dirt he’s done will (or already has) come back to haunt him.

You don’t stiff your former neighbors for $7,000 via bankruptcy not get some type of metaphoric payback.