Untitled Document

08 December 2006

The Rock Steady Group

I have a good start on implementing an exit strategy this morning. I have implemented four of the seventy-nine recommendations of the Rock Steady Group, a panel of retired former diplomats and Spooks who my Dad used to know.

I have chosen them to help me extricate from the perilous situation in which I find myself.

I am of an age, after all, and find myself mired in circumstances completely beyond my control. I tossed and turned all night, as the chill wind pummeled the building with body-blows all night. The concrete pillars and salmon-colored bricks took the hits with aplomb, but the single-pane glass in the tall windows leaked puffs of cold air.

I burrowed into the covers, wondering how I had blundered into the situation. I had only the best intentions at the beginning, as you well know, and assumed that with bold action I could conquer my situation immediately, and my creditors would greet me with rose petals and open arms.

I had several friends who assured me it could not go wrong, that it was a slam-dunk of a plan. I haven't seen much of them lately, and I don't know why.

I decided to take a minor advance on all my credit cards- the companies seemed happy to grant it to me at the time- and take the bus to visit the Casinos. There, I reasoned, I could recoup my investment and pay off all my future obligations, ensuring I have plenty of money for gas for the cars, and give my sons a lesson in responsible financial planning.

I was surprised when I lost my first few hands at the Blackjack table. Perhaps a minor alternation in strategy was required, a bit of fine tuning. I moved over to the Texas Hold 'Em table and things seemed to be going quite well for a while. I was staying even, but needed that decisive victory to cash in my chips and go home with honor.

It is not my fault that I was dealt a perfect opportunity. I had a straight flush, almost, and all I needed was the right card and I was guaranteed a winner.

Naturally, I bet the farm, so to speak, and it was an unfortunate occurrence that the dealer stood on three-of-a-kind and my flush, and straight, as it occurred, was busted.

I was surprised to find that my credit was not considered sufficient to be granted a stake, and get back in the game and resume my relentless march to supremacy. I have always been good on my debts before. It seemed quite unfair.

Two large fellows, Persian by birth, I presumed, informed me that I could not leave the city limits until some good-faith payment was arranged at what I considered to be usurious rates.

A Syrian lender of my acquaintance seemed strangely distant and unhelpful when I contacted him. Only months before, when I showed him my new Remington Wingmaster 800 shotgun, he had seemed most solicitous.

It was curious that he had changed, now that I could not afford ammunition.

Hence the Rock Steady Group. How could I extricate myself from this misunderstanding, I asked? By what means could I win back my good name, credit, and influence in Atlantic City and regain my popularity in Big Pink?

They said they would get back to me, and I washed dishes at the Hard Rock Casino for a while. I had a hard time making friends with the staff, who were of many nationalities. The only one I could really understand was a Brit, and even he grew more distant.

I thought I was just being helpful in showing him how to do things more efficiently.

The Rock Steady Group proved to be as good as their collective word. I met them after a shift in the kitchen, where the heat was steamy and uncomfortable.

They presented me with a list of 79 separate recommendations, which seems to me to be far too many. I looked down the list. They wanted me to act more diplomatic, revise my investment strategy and learn a language.

It seemed to be quite a bother. I think I would prefer to stay the course, and if I could just borrow some more money I could gamble my way back to good health.

“I assume this is some sort of smorgasbord of options, right?” I said a bit petulantly. “I think I could get started on some of them, but frankly, others seem to be a repudiation of everything I stand for.”

The Rock Steady Group looked at me stoically, sort of like my Dad used to in High School. “And what about the language thing?” I said querulously. That's hard stuff.”

The tallest and oldest member of the Group looked at me gravely. “If you learned to speak Farsi,” he said slowly “You might be able to convince them to let you leave town.”

I hate it when they are right. Maybe I can learn just enough to con them into it. I just hope it is not to late. I don't want to be washing dishes forever, you know?