Thanksgiving Humor Courtesy of Don Papi Pulido!

I accompanied a friend to the Wells Fargo near MainPlace this past
Saturday when I noticed that SanTana Mayor Don Papi Pulido strolled up
to a teller's window and proclaimed his account number for everyone to
hear. I'm not exaggerating–I was a good 10 feet away from the
diminutive man with the booming voice, and what originally caught my
attention wasn't that it was Don Papi Pulido but that some moron was
yelling out his account number. Didn't anybody ever teach the Papi that
one shouldn't be revealing vitals to the public, that one shouldn't
follow the lead of that guy who owns the company that says they'll
protect you from identity theft, and he gives out his Social Security number on radio commercials? Either Don Papi Pulido is arrogant as hell, or he's plain dumb. I say both.

digress. He starts making small talk with the cute teller–Thanksgiving
plans, the like. Nothing flirtatious, just small talk. LOUD small talk.
Dad's here, sister's there, who cares? We're now standing five feet from each other. I think about asking why
he never returns my calls, but it's a nice Saturday and I want to go
read. I finish a transaction with another teller, a young, portly
Latino. Once I leave, Don Papi Pulido tries to talk with the guy. “So
what are you going to do for Thanksgiving,” the leader of SanTana
asked. “Eat?”

He says this last word in a sotto voice, much more sotto
than usual, in a tone that mocks more than asks. The poor teller is
flustered and just smiles. Don Papi Pulido must've learned his humor from the Busty Bustamante School of Silliness

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