“Excuse me, sir. Is it possible for me to get in and just see the gift shop?”
Visiting Washington, D.C., for business last November, I was drawn to the brand-new National Museum of African American History & Culture. The waiting list for tickets was eight months long to get in, but it was a warm, sunny day so I walked there from my hotel just to see what it looked like.
“No sir, you have to have a ticket,” I was told.
“Well, OK, just thought I’d try.”
The ticket-taker paused, looked me up and down and gave me a conspiratorial smile.
“Hold on.”
He reached into his coat pocket and produced a ticket, then he winked and told me to enjoy myself.
It was as though Shirley was looking out for me.
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