Friday night, Joey, one of the leaders on my team got married.
Mike, another on our team played guitar, and Dave, a friend of ours, conducted the ceremony. My wife, Janna, said it was a beautiful reception, but men only attend such events for the reception—so I’ll skip ahead.
Mike, Janna, and I sat at a table with folks from Joey’s father-in-law’s old neighborhood. They still keep in touch, meeting annually for a combination golf tournament and old neighborhood reunion.
We were the only ones at the table not from the old neighborhood. We didn’t mean to crash their party, but all of the other seats were taken. More people had shown than had originally RSVP’ed.
“Who are you?” One of them asked.
“I work with Joey.” I replied.
“What does HL stand for?”
“Really? That should be my name.”
And this conversation repeated every time another from the old neighborhood joined us. However, over the music, one of the wives missed my introduction, and asked Mike, “Who is he?”
“He’s mine and Joey’s manager.” Mike said.
Her husband heard and said—loud enough for the whole table to hear, “Hey! HL is Joey’s boss. He said he just worked with the guy.”
And someone else said, “Now, that’s a real team.”
Indeed, it is.