I finished a book yesterday, and I cried a little. Neither were connected, but in a way they do go together. Let me explain.

A while back, a lender I’ve done some business with said that she and her husband were going to start a book club in 2018. A monthly meeting deal. Something sort of informal that will let us learn more about building our businesses and also likely to involve some sort of alcohol when we meet. So, it was a bit of a toss up there for a while knowing I’d have to read, but let’s be honest: I’ll pretty much do anything if it ends with “now, let’s drink.”

So, about six weeks ago, I bought the book. Didn’t think much of it as I read about eight business-related books last year and figured this was my first step to 12 books this year. The book is called “Never Eat Alone, and Other Secrets to Success, One Relationship at a Time.” After taking some time off reading over the holidays, last night I finished the book. I won’t go in depth on my thoughts of the book overall other than to say that the author is hands down one of the finest examples of a toolbag executive who I’d love to throat punch at our first meeting. I’m not someone who likes name dropping other than to goad my pals. Sure, I’ve met a few semi-famous people in my time and if we’re being really serious, college football players in a college football crazy state are more than famous if the team is good. But the way this guy spoke of himself and the people he met in the book was crazy. It was as if Anthony Scaramucci wrote it as according to Steve Bannon, because this guy was actually trying to suck his own dick.

There is page after page of examples of why I’ll never be a CEO of a big corporation or a high level executive of any sort, assuming that much of this actually takes place on the regular when those guys are climbing the proverbial ladder. And I’m cool with that. I really could not stand myself if I believed in going about business the way he does. Now, if he does believe it, good for him. Good for him for making more than I’ll ever make and meeting more stars of the business, entertainment and technology world than I ever will. And again, that’s OK.

On Page 289 out of 298 written pages, he finally hit on a concept that I felt mattered. Before I get into that though, I should make a disclaimer. He’s a jackhole. I can’t stand his schtick. But I read the whole book because I believe everyone, and I do mean everyone, can be learned from. He didn’t get to where he was without something being worthwhile to clone. I hope anyway. So I tried to pick that out and will try to use it to some extent to help my business, just not the way he did. I’m still not sure what it is that I got from it, but that’s for another day.

Now, back to Page 289.

In the second paragraph, a cute little concept he wrote about from the authors of another book caught my eye. The book was “Refrigerator Rights: Creating Connections and Restoring Relationships.” This wannabe finally actually hit on something that mattered to me: the people around us and how close we are to them.

According to that interesting page, which may be the only one of the big-mouth’s book, the Refrigerator Rights book argued that “with our increased mobility, American emphasis on individualism, and the overwhelming media distractions available to us, we lead lives of relative isolation.” It goes on to talk about how few people nowadays are such good friends that they retain “refrigerator rights” with others in their circle. In other words, hardly anyone is staying connected to people in their circle long enough to allow a deep and meaningful relationship to exist that falls more into a familial boundary than that of someone outside your lineage.

Boom. Mind blown that I’d write an original sentence like that last one, ever.

Now, I kinda dug this thought process and wanted to know a little more, but really didn’t want to try to uncover anything significant. You know, just enough to prove my point without actually having to gain too much knowledge in the process. So I went exactly where everyone should go as a starting point to prove or disprove any theory: the Urban Dictionary.

After a quick trip to the Google box, there it was, right on my screen:

refrigerator rights

I didn’t know they had a term for what I grew up with and still have.

I can count at least seven people who, because of shear time and circumstance, have earned that status. And there are another 7-10 who, while I would think they wouldn’t just go in the fridge and grab away on their own, I know I wouldn’t mind if they did. Unfortunately though, I’d bet that the premise of the book is correct and that a lot of what we as a society suffer from is a lack of friendships that would let people fall into this category. Too many people are too often not getting close to others IRL.

(Note: if you don’t know what IRL means, check out the Urban Dictionary. Although, as an aside, I must say, the second example of usage is a bit over the top there Internets editors)

While we may not have seen eye-to-eye on everything as we’ve become adults, we’ve still kept that bond from when we were much younger. We put in the time, sweat, blood and tears that go with a lifelong friendship, even when it’s such a large group and not just a 1-to-1 deal. I honestly wish more people understood what it was like. It is why I feel I’m the luckiest guy alive.

So, where were the tears, you ask?

The connection of that really lame-ass book to my buddies took on an eerily weird timing yesterday. I finished the book in the late afternoon. I read that passage on Page 289 while watching the New Orleans vs. Minnesota playoff game. There were four lead changes in the final 3 minutes and it ended on the last play of the game with a ridiculous finish, which was just a little bit after I read about Refrigerator Rights for the first time in my life.

I totally teared up knowing that one of my guys, one of the Original Refrigerator Rights Boys in my life, was looking down from up high at that fantastic finish. I literally had goose bumps and couldn’t stop thinking about him and how he would have reacted, how god damn uncontrollably loud his bellowing would have been last night in the City of Angels. It’s probably best that Dwin died in August because after that finish for his favorite football team — the one with the most white running backs in the land, as he would say with a whole lot of disdain — I don’t think his heart could have taken it.

Seems though that I wasn’t the only one who thought of him at that moment. Several people posted on social media about it, almost immediately. Most of my guys thought about it, I’m sure. Luckily I have easy access to them on FB since we’re so far apart. It’s like the best of both worlds because I do get to keep that awesome friendship going for moments like that, and yet I don’t have to give up any beer in my fridge to do it.

Then again, I think they luck out with the better end of the deal with Sugar Mama keeping me on the East Coast and away from their fridges.