One evening, when I happened to drop by Dan Tana's, a watering hole in the Buckhead area, I bumped into Ed Morris and a group of heavyweight real estate types who invited me over for a drink. Ed introduced me to the gang.
"Hey, guys, this is Shmooze's intern for the summer." I shook some hands, high-fived a few others. But I had a funny feeling I was being drawn into the proverbial barrel.
"Where is the Shmooze-man tonight?" one of them asked.
"He's on a plane to New York," I said, "so I actually have a few hours to myself." Naturally, at that precise moment, the phone rang and it was Mr. Shmooze, calling from the plane.
"Kid, I just talked to Jerry Warner. Meet him at the Ritz tomorrow morning at 7:30 and drop off those reports we talked about this morning."
"No problem," I said.
The crowd chimed in, "Is that Shmooze? Ask him if he is going out with Trump tonight in Manhattan!"
"Yeah, and tell him to say, 'Hello' to Bill Clinton for us!"
I switched on my cell phone's speaker function, just as Shmooze countered, "Ask those guys what the difference is between a real estate broker and a hooker. Answer? Real estate brokers have a license!"
Immediately, I was pelted with ice and profanities as both sides laughed at my having been shot as the messenger. Moments later, Shmooze was gone and I was left on my own with the riled-up brokers. Rich Hammond, an ultra-successful Atlanta developer, then began what turned out to be a solid hour of Mr. Shmooze stories.
"Shmooze and ...