Yesterday, karma was in and out, over and under, crazy. First, I was depressed. Then the call came in about the house, so I was elated.
Then Mike and Jann and I drove over so I could show them the place. Then we ran out of gas. I was mortified when they called AAA — there we were, three grown men in a big Volkswagen Toureg, out of gas on The Alameda with gas stations 1 mile in either direction. I felt like the very definition of sissy.
Then we went downtown for a celebratory dinner. We sat at the table waiting, eating bread and drinking champagne, until finally–one hour after we ordered–our meal came. And we just told the guy to wrap it up, because we were no longer hungry.
Thus, came the next uptick in karma: a grand idea, which you should feel free to steal (with appropriate credit, of course): an all-bread restaurant.
People can come in, have drinks and talk, and you just keep the bread basket coming. They can just eat bread (and maybe an appetizer), and never bring them any real food. Just keep the drinks coming, and you’ll make loads of cash, right?
