Where the movers and shakers go

This morning among other errands, I got my oil changed. Okay, not MY oil. My car, Jet’s, oil. As I sat in the oil-changing place (part of the local car wash, but I’m opting to hold off on the car wash because our weather sucks*), I watched the most diverse set of men (all men) meet each other, talk business, exchange cards, and begin deals. These were men who probably would never have met one another in the normal course of their business days. If I made documentaries, I’d have asked if I could follow them from here on out to see what Great Things come from this morning’s discussions.

I guess in Houston, City of Automobiles second only to L.A., businesses that cater to cars are our version of the small-town coffee shops where men who were my father’s contemporaries used to network.

It was a relief to know people still talk to each other without a headset or a monitor.

*Since I wrote this, our weather today has been sensational. Houston, you owe me a big freaking thank-you. If I would have gotten that car wash, you’d be driving through a rainy, gloomy rush hour later.

7 thoughts on “Where the movers and shakers go”

  1. Jet’s a great name for a car. My best friend had a car named Waverly once, an elegant name for a piece of crap. We went to the drive-thru at Burger King once, and its exhaust was smoking so bad the car got engulfed in a mushroom cloud. My friend got embarrassed and drove off without his food. Any witnesses might’ve thought we disappeared like Margaret Hamilton.

    1. When I say the following it is always true: You just made me spit coffee.

      Back when the boys (I call these grown men “boys” for no apparent reason) and I used to meet in our chat room, they considered it a great thing if something they said (typed) made me spew.

      So–there you are. A great thing.

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