His name was Harry but somehow I felt that was not his real name. Harry had a thick accent and ran a corner market in San Francisco’s Mission District. He carried a good wine selection on the shelves and vividly projected what cops refer to has “command presence.” It’s human nature to be taken back a bit when someone is yelling and shouting at you all the time. This was Harry’s store and his was going to yell a shout all he wanted.

“I don’t want any wine today,” he said as I entered the store with my wine bag in tow. “My name is Val and I’d like to show you my Zinfandel’s. You don’t have to buy just take a look.” I said, and started pulling the corks. I felt an irresistible urge to play this game out to the end. It is a game after all.

“None of these wines are any good,” Harry said. “How much are they?” I mentally chuckled and told Harry the prices. He told the prices were even worse than the wine. Harry went on how bad his business was. “I use to have 300-400 customers a day and now I have 150,” he complained. “O.K. I buy 2 cases Amador Zinfandel and 1 case Sonoma Zinfandel and you give me 6 bottles of Napa Valley no cost,” came the shot out of right field.