The night my dad and I DIDN'T get kicked out of Le Ritz Hotel, Paris.

This is a great conversation starter, by the way. Particularly if you find yourself behind a bar, which I did, today, and do, often. Usually the conversation starts when one patron or another sees me take a sip of water.

They inevitably ask the following: "Is that cucumber?"

And I say, "If you think a lemon makes water taste clean, you've never tried it with a slice of cucumber."

This is not something I came up with on my own. This is how they roll at Le Bar Hemingway, located in Place Vendome's Ritz Hotel, in Paris. Which I visited for obvious reasons. With my dad. Before we left, we had stolen six coasters, two monogrammed cloth napkins and a menu insert. And run up an almost inconceivable bar tab with just one round of drinks.

Pretty classy place, that.

And a bit different from the Green Iguana, where I found myself today because, well, I'm a sucker. It's stamped on my forehead. When I can, I do people favors and cover their shifts. The pastor at my church has picked up on this.

"Hey, will you cover tonight's devotion for the beach walk?"

"...Tonight?"

"Yeah."

"...Yeah."

Like I said. Stamped on my forehead.