YOU CANNOT CON A CON-MAN
We drove into the nearly empty and isolated parking lot
of a bed and breakfast in Castle Gregory, Ireland. A wise-cracker (obviously
either a member of Lions Club or Kiwanis) came up and asked if I had a parking
permit. Without missing a beat, I told him we had an All-Ireland Permit in the
glove box. Half of a fun couple from Limerick, we enjoyed them and Marietta –
as we left for Dingle – announced to the breakfast room that we appreciated his
paying for our stay. This is how you learn to act as a Rotarian of 30 years.
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