The Mississippi Mud

In 1987, I lived in San Diego and was a manager at a movie theatre in the Fashion Valley mall. It was an AMC theatre, and while I love movies and loved working at theatres (My first real job was as a doorman at a movie theatre, and I liked working there so much I probably would've done it for free - Actually, looking back on it now, I almost did do it for free; I got paid $2.64 an hour.) I didn't like working for AMC, though. My boss, the theatre's general manager, told me that I while I might have other people fooled, it was clear to her that I "wasn't a company man." My hair was too long, for one thing - It nearly covered the back of my collar. (it was pretty short everywhere else, though - After all, this was 1987.) So, while she worked hard at verifying her suspicions about the suitability of employment, I thought about beginning to think about finding another job.
When I met the new guy, who I assumed was my replacement, it seemed instantly clear to me that the G.M. had found the company man she'd been looking for. It was like meeting Parker Stevenson, except smaller. Or maybe Peter Scolari, except not quite as effeminate. Even this guy's name was corporate: David Wells. When he pulled up to work that first night in his gold Cavalier, it occurred to me that perhaps I should take the next step in my job search and maybe look at the classifieds or something.
So anyway, (and I think we'll switch tense here) the first night I work with Mr. Wells, I ask him to go up to the booth and start The Allnighter, or Leonard Part VI, or Three Men and a Baby, or whatever, and as he's about to walk away, I say, "...but first, a number." And he says, (and five points if you get this, although you should, because the title of this post gives it away) "You know, a musical number..," immediately picking up on my M*A*S*H* reference and supplying the next line of dialogue. So my respect for him rises.
And then I find out he likes Jimmy Buffett, and it goes up another notch.
Does he like Duran Duran?
Nope. Down a notch.
Turns out Dave wants to be a screenwriter, loves Pop Culture as much as I do, and is also every bit as irreverent. He's not a company man either, even though he looks just like one.
I didn't stick around the Fashion Valley 4 much longer after Dave started, but we became friends and stayed in touch. Like me, he eventually moved back home, and he's in Michigan now, still writing screenplays and still quoting dialogue, and we talk nearly every week. He actually only recently got rid of the gold Cavalier, which he said served him well, even after he wrecked it rear-ending me at a traffic light in 1988. (He was concerned that I had had too much to drink that night, and was following me to make sure I got home safely....)
Ah, good times...