“Well, look who’s here. If it isn’t Mr. Big Shot Concert Promoter. Remember me?”

“Uh…”

“Kellerman. Sam Kellerman. You fired me six months ago.”

“Uh…”

“You said I’d never work in this town again. You said I’d never amount to anything. That I didn’t have the smarts to promote shows like matchbox twenty or Social Distortion.”

“Uh…”

“Remember Paul Weller, Mr. Big Shot? Or how about U2 and Roxy Music? You blamed it all on me.”

“Uh…”

“Lemme tell you something. Anyone could have lost those ticket receipts. But did you forgive me? I said, ‘let’s work through this,’ but did you listen?”

“Uh…”

“I’ll bet you’re still sore over that big hip hop show. So what if I sent the Eminem T-shirts to that Insane Clown Posse show? Sheesh, a guy makes one mistake…”

“Uh…”

“And you kick him out the door.”

“Uh…”

“You said I’d never amount to anything, remember? But look at me now. Everyday I see the biggest names in the business. A day doesn’t go by that I’m not dealing with the people who represent stars like The Cult and Janet Jackson. William Morris, CAA, Ovitz, SFX, they all know me. Heck, they even stand in line to talk to me.”

“Uh…”

“So what do you have to say to that, Mr. Big Shot Promoter? Eh? James Brown, Staind and Tim McGraw, they’ve all come through that door, and now it’s your turn. So, what do you want? Are you ready to deal with Sam Kellerman?”

“Uh…”

“Come on, speak up. Time is money. Say what you have to say and then get out. I’ve got more important fish to fry.”

“Uh…”

“Yeah? What?”

“Uh… If I order the #1, do I get fries with that?”