CarrollBlog

Once on a book tour of Poland, I was told some big shot politician wanted to meet because he liked my books. I had never heard of the man but said sure, why not? At the end of the tour a party was given at a lovely restaurant in Warsaw. Almost all of the lighting in the room was via hundreds of small candles placed everywhere. It made things very intimate and romantic, if a little dark. The politician and I were introduced. Both of us were sort of stiff and kept smiles on our faces too long. He had brought his wife and daughter along so there was quite a bunch of us squeezed into a large booth in one corner of the restaurant. On the shelf behind the booth were a long row of flickering candles. As we talked, I unconsciously leaned back and stretched my arm across the top of the booth. The politician's teenage daughter was next to me and we chatted. Suddenly her eyes widened in real alarm, seeing something behind me. Turning, I saw that my arm was on fire. I had put it too close to the candles back there and guess what? Half the length of my arm was on fire. Flames, smoke, the whole thing. The politician was sitting on my other side. When he saw (or smelled) what was happening, without a moment's hesitation he took both his and my water glasses and threw them on my jacket, dowsing the flames, soaking me. Silently, he helped me take off the jacket which by then was still smoking and smelly. I looked at it in my lap, then at him and said "I'd vote for you."