Back when El Ultimo Gringo was in town we had a discussion about whether or not I was actually ever talking to anyone. I’m not talking about having an Aristotelian debate on the fate of humanity; I’m just talking about meeting people. This doesn’t count the words over the water cooler at work, or joking around with a bartender, or getting attention from someone who you are technically tipping but an honest to goodness encounter. I’m not sure if last Saturday night counts but it certainly was interesting.
Decided at some point that while sitting on my couch watching Beavis and Butthead reruns was an enjoyable pastime it certainly isn’t the best way to spend my life so I made my way to my favorite bar. Didn’t have much of a game plan in mind, just figured that I’d go out and have a few beers and see what happens. Got there, said hi to all of the staff, and took my spot standing at the end of the bar.
Being a regular does have some privileges. Such as the fact that bartenders actually give me a heads up when a seat opens up at the bar. I’m not sure if that is something that I should be proud of, that I am in a place so much that I am given a preferential seat. I guess I’ll be happier when it is simply my seat and no one gets to sit there. Ever. And it even has my name on it. Guess we all have to dream.
Anyway, so I sit down and a couple of people come over and I start talking to one of the girls at the bar. Cute girl and as I’m talking to her I’m trying to figure out who the hell she reminds me of. After a few minutes it hits me, she looks like Julie Delpy (just rent Before Sunset, but let’s say this is like having a dream in front of me). I’m simultaneously happy (that I’m talking to someone), bummed (that her boyfriend is standing ten feet away) and apprehensive (because I definitely didn’t bring my A game to begin with). Still, there are three moments that definitely deserve retelling.
She’s drinking water and I’ve downed like my fourth Boulevard Wheat in an hour so everything is going fine in my side of the world. She orders a bunch of Slim Jims from the bar and gathers her friends to do a Slim Jim toast. Let me explain. The idea is that everyone takes a Slim Jim, raises them and touches them in a toast (like the Three Musketeers except not with swords but with beef jerky) and then they rip the package and, uh, “Snap into a Slim Jim”. Now, I expect that anyone reading this has a befuddled look on their face right about now. Which is exactly how all of her friends looked. I told her it was an inspired bit, so I think I at least got credit for having a similar warped sense of humor.
Of course, a pretty girl at the bar is going to attract some attention so two guys come over and start talking to her. Using a pick up line along the lines of “Do you work for Slim Jim?” I swear, at times I really think there might be hope for me in this world because I’m more sophisticated than that. To deal with the guys she goes, “Oh yeah of course. This is my manager over here.” Pointing to me, obviously.
Now, being a really nice guy who sits at a bar and doesn’t cause trouble and can provide good conversation does make me a useful commodity on occasion. Earlier this year I became a woman’s brother in order to keep the drunks away. I’ve suddenly become the boyfriend on more than a few occasions, which kind of always pissed me off when the guys went away. And once in Ireland I actually became a husband in order to make life easier for all of those involved. But I’ll have to say, no one had ever called me their manager before. Confused the hell out of the guys, “Manager of what?” they muttered as they walked away. I had to give her props on that one.
The final story is what got me. We had been talking for awhile about the classes she was taking and she mentioned work. So I of course ask what does she do.
“I’m a bartender.”
As El Ultimo Gringo said, joking with bartenders doesn’t count. I’m not sure if off-duty bartenders in a different bar changes the rule but still. What does it say that the only people I run into are bartenders? When I go to concerts I run into bartenders I know. When I’m flying back from Chicago I’m on the same flight as one of the guys from Kelly’s. And now I go to bars and hang out with bartenders. I might as well just get my license now and start serving drinks. That would of course just make all of this water cooler talk but at least it would be a more interesting office.
So an interesting night. A good scrimmage, as we like to say in football parlance. And, since I know where she works, who knows, maybe I’ll find myself a regular at yet another bar.
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