By Kelley, higher-education administrator
As we approached the steps that led into the bar’s location below Ontario Street, Dad stopped dead in his tracks. “Crap,” he said.
I’m so embarrassed and wasted that I start crying. “Dad, you always do this!,” I howl, as if he’s always engaging in this particular chain of ridiculous events. I threw a $20 bill at him and screamed, “And here’s my tip!” Then I sprinted outside and caught a cab back to the hotel.
