St. Regis should have shined my shoes
I know, forgiveness is divine. Maybe. On the eve of Yom Kippur, where I pray in their basement, I couldn’t get a shoeshine because I wasn’t a guest. I wasn’t a guest there the previous night for drinks, nor twice this month for interesting businessmen’s lunches, too.
I am NOT a good dresser, anyone will attest, but like other idiots I like a good shine, of my shoes.
I wish the new owners much luck with their multimillion-dollar renovations; they should throw in a few free shines – it will not affect their Internal Rate of Return (IRR) on their investment; trust me I ran the numbers on my HP12C, and my Wharton concept of corporate culture is keen. Never make a potential guest feel like anything other than a prince.
Unfortunately, I prayed there on Yom Kippur for personal reasons, but my brown cordovans looked like they came off of Smuggler. God will forgive me, but I will never put my sons up for skiing nor spend another shekel in the St. Regis.
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