Mr. Hospitality Welcomes The Vogts To Moundridge

I have been working in Moundridge for nearly a year, and Saturday night I finally was properly welcomed to town.

The guy didn’t have a nametag or an official hat, but I know a welcome party when I see one.

I was sitting at Block 32 Eatery and Pub in downtown Moundridge when this woman sat down and began hitting on me.

She was telling me how cute I was, asking me why I was single, telling me that she was single, suggesting I walk her home, asking if we could go back to my place and rubbing my back.

Her attention boosted my ego, but I wasn’t interested, especially when she belched in my face and it reeked of the radishes she’d obviously eaten earlier in the day.

However, Mr. Hospitality didn’t hear all that was said. No, he just saw what he thought was transpiring.

Apparently he is dating this gal, and he was pissed that I was “fucking with his girlfriend.”

His full, official name (his real name shall remain anonymous for his own sake) is Mr. Hospitality, the Official Social Attaché of Moundridge, and he is a large gent who introduced himself in a most hilarious fashion.

He came up and shook my hand, squeezing as hard he could so I would be intimidated.

I couldn’t help it. I began to smile.

Then he asked a question.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

I responded to the negative.

“Well, I know who you are,” he replied.

I said that didn’t surprise me, considering I was the editor of the local newspaper.

He proceeded to inform me that I was talking to his girlfriend, and I should think twice about that because he had 18 guys out on the patio with him that were ready to “whoop my ass” for what I was doing.

Never mind the fact that his intoxicated girlfriend was coming on to me. Is it my fault that I am so handsome?

I politely told him I was just talking to her, and he assured me he wasn’t trying to “start shit” with me.

I smiled and nodded.

“Don’t smile at me,” he said.

“What would you like me to do?” I asked.

He had no response. He told me to watch myself, or he and all his buddies were going to beat me up.

“And you can put that in the paper, bitch,” he said as he pulled my ball cap down over my eyes.

He and his loving girlfriend then paid their tabs and left, but not before he demanded that her drinks be removed from his bill because he was no longer with her.

I appreciated my welcome from Mr. Hospitality, although it was a bit of an inconvenience.

I just wanted to enjoy my Captain Morgan and Dr. Pepper in peace. If he wanted to beat me up, that’s fine, seeing as it is clearly the customary way to welcome someone new to Moundridge. I just wish he would have done it and gotten it finished, so I could have gotten back to my booze in peace.

Getting beaten up doesn’t scare me, especially for the sake of tradition. Wounds heal. I was just annoyed that he decided to screw with me on one of the few nights I went into Block 32 by myself.

Mr. Hospitality needs to learn a little tact and perform his official duties when newcomers to town aren’t trying to relax in the peaceful atmosphere of Block 32.

And he should also inform his girlfriend that it isn’t her job to offer herself as the welcome basket.

I can grow my own radishes, thank you.

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