I had an absolutely wonderful time in Colorado. I wasn’t aware that Grand Junction was 20 miles from Utah, but I found out quickly — or slowly, rather, as our drive lasted late into the night on Tuesday. We arrived at 4:00am MST, which, of course, felt like 5:00am to us. Sleeping in the next day left me ready to go Wednesday night. After setting up what was in the end a rather pud auction, we went to a place called the Rock Slide (or Mud Slide, or some kind of slide). There was a cute Columbian waitress there and the other three auctioneers with me, knowing my marital status, decided it was their job to “hook us up”. I, believing it was a frivolous endeavor, was able to thwart their plans with my usual, and somewhat disturbing, ease. Apparently, towards the end of the night, on my way to the restroom I reportedly impacted the side of a door. The bar, in a quite justifiable act of threshold preservation, cut me off from having any more drinks. I am to this day unable to remember my impact, but I became quite coherent after finding out my drinking privileges had been revoked. Against the complaints of the innocent Columbian, I demanded she bring over the bar manager who had allegedly witnessed my collision and ordered the truncation of my evening. As my fellow auctioneers were rolling on the floor, I convinced the extremely nice fellow that I was indeed capable of consuming another of his delicious microbrews, that I was staying in the hotel across the street, and that he had nothing about which to be concerned except how he was going to pay for the raise that his Columbian waitress was surely due. He brought me another beer.
As we were leaving, after having talked to the owner one final time and leaving on quite amiable terms, I reached the main door to the bar where I found my friends, again, doubled over laughing. The waitress had labeled both sides of the door with crayon-scribed notes reading “This is the door frame” and “Do not hit this”.