There is a difference between a creek and a crick.
A crick is just a creek with a tire in it.
Steven Rinella taught me that.
By that standard, drought conditions aside, there are no creeks in Lake County.
Only crick’s.
The 2021 Lake County pear harvest was challenging. Drought. Labor was short. Tough market.
The crop was Wilsonlike. Small with maturity issues.
The highlight of my most challenging harvest to date, unequivocally, was getting paid a visit by the Executive Team for a night of Paella and General Revelry.
After Paella, my brother Chilito demanded I take the Executive Team to a casino for a night cap.
“I can’t. My Direwolf is with me.”
Without hesitation, Chilito casted aspersions to my manhood.
Chilito is a renowned swordsman and chocolatier. I take these insults personally.
Chilito apologizes. He switches to bribes and concessions. I relent. He can be persuasive when the fit is on him. The Executive Team and Direwolf pile into my pickup and we make the mile long trek to the Running Crick Casino under the cover of night.
As we pull into the casino, from the driver’s seat, I get the bright idea to shout at the security guard standing in front of the casino,
“Do you allow seeing eye dogs?”
(For the sake of the story let’s call the security guard the Salutatorian.)
“Absolutely, sir” the Salutatorian shouts back.
We park.
I pull my Direwolf out of the truck, put on sunglasses, grab my brothers shoulder and go through security like I’m Ray Charles being escorted into a venue.
To my surprise, our Salutatorian does a temperature scan and lets me and the Direwolf into the casino, even though the he saw me DRIVING A MOTOR VEHICLE MINUTES EARLIER.
Direwolf in tow, unobstructed by laws and regulations, I waltz up to the Blackjack table and begin playing cards with a fervor that only a gambling addict like Michael Jordan can fully appreciate.
An hour hooting and hollering later, a different security guard approached our table.
(For sake of the story lets call him the Valedictorian)
Valedictorian: “Excuse me sir, but you and your dog are going to have to leave.”
I was busted. Not just for hitting on 17, but for my operational 20/20 Ocean Blues…
I tell the Executive Team I have to leave and inform them there are No Ubers in Lake County.
The Executive Team is comprised of skilled tradesmen. They embrace the idea of quitting while ahead. But some were ahead so much, they were forced to sign 1099’s. This slowed our retreat.
I, on the other hand, was ushered out of the casino toot sweet by our Valedictorian.
As I am being escorted outside, I confront the Saludatorian at the entrance.
“You told me you allow seeing eye dogs!” I chastise.
The Saludatorian turns to his intellectual and occupational superior, The Valedictorian, and says, “He said it was a seeing eye dog when he pulled in.”
Valedictorian: “Was he driving?”
Saludatorian: “Yeah”
Valedictorian: “What the F*** DuWayne. Blind people can’t drive.”
The Executive Team and Direwolf hustle into the Silverado. I pull thru the guard shack and yell,
“I’m not really blind!”
A meth addict that was sitting on a bench at the entrance, who was chewing with no bubble gum exclaimed,
“I knew it!”
I accelerate and glance into my rearview mirror. Looks of hopeless confusion washed over the faces of the Saludatorian and Valedictorian.
If The Running Crick Casino taught me anything , it’s to never overestimate the IQ of a security guard with tattoos for eyebrows.