After having addressed the ten thousand attendees at the meeting of the Million Dollar Round Table conference in Atlanta, I was invited to attend a dinner at one of the top restaurants in Chicago. It was the middle of winter, and upon entering the restaurant, I wanted to check my overcoat before being seated for dinner. At the time, I was a stout 230 pounds and 5?10" (if I stood up on my tiptoes). I approached the coat check counter, where the young woman behind the counter seemed to be immediately enamored with me. She took my coat and thanked me. I must have looked a little startled as I asked, "Don?t I need a coat check ticket?" She quickly responded, "YOU don?t need a ticket!", as if she had just checked a garment belonging to the Pope or Elvis Presley! Walking on cloud nine, I thought to myself, "Wow! I must be famous!"

At the end of the evening, I re-approached the coat check counter where, much to my delight and amazement, she immediately handed me my overcoat. Feeling extremely high and mighty about my newfound celebrity status, I tipped her generously and walked out of the restaurant. As I turned to walk away, I put my hand into my coat pocket to grab my gloves, only to find a slip of paper with the name of the restaurant printed at the top. The paper simply read: "SHORT, FAT, WITH GLASSES."