from Hotel Adios

So maybe I should begin this spiel by lettin’ it out that I got myself a business degree from one of them SoCal colleges. Or maybe I should cut the big talk and be truthful, like Grandma Lark tried to teach me, and say I didn’t even get into that program. The reason? Grades from my ancient past, when a C- was a C- . . . Or maybe it was the test scores . . . Could’ve been the essay, and of course that screwed-up interview . . . Could also be they thought I was on the downslope from the big six-oh, that’s always a possibility, or so says my lawyer, Ms. Leticia Ladrona. After which she sports an Esq., which is how she wants to be known by her clients and, lest I forget, her fellow bandidos. That would’ve been lawsuit worthy, she’d said, except it’d be hard to prove, due to my grades and test scores and essay and prolly my interview, which I thought was goin’ okay if not super till they shut me off after maybe five minutes, prolly because they weren’t all that dazzled by my answers to their dopey questions, goin’ by the laughs I caught wind of after they suggested I leave and leave I did but put my ear to the door hopin’ not to get caught, and caught I was not. 

Who knows why? Point bein’, I didn’t exactly get in.