Joe came to America on Oct. 1, 1967. That's 47 years for those of you playing along at home. He must have been 25 to 30 years old at that point.
Joe was not the name his mother called him and after 3 light-hearted attempts to call him something else he said, “Joe, I told you to call me Joe.”
Alright then. Of course ‘Joe’. He did seem a little playful for an older fellow, but only on his terms. He also seemed a little angry about the course that America has taken over his tenure.
“Excuse my language, but America is f@#$ed.” he said.
Where do you go from this point with a customer?
“I hear a little something that sounds South African, I said.
“People guess that and Australian and English all the time.”
“And you’re not going to tell me.” I said, after a lengthy pause.
"Maybe if I see you again someday.”
My gut said Rhodesia, but I searched that when I got home. There were a dozen African countries under British rule. It could have been any of them, I guess.
Thankfully, it was a short ride. Happy America Day, Joe.
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