Saturday, March 22, 2008

here comes the irregular ...

for many years i was a bit of a regular at a certain bar on first street. so comfortable was i bellied up to the long six-top table by the door that i often likened that ole barn to hanging out in a friend's rec room. sometimes i made popcorn. sometimes i poured my own water, belly flopping across the bar to get a squirt from the gun. often i was one of the last customers, ducking out of the bar as the bartender tapped in the code for the alarm.

i saw the owner piss on his barstool. mists of my own grainbelt premium breath clogged the karaoke microphone. a bartender locked me in the bathroom stall and tried to kiss me and i scooched out underneath the door like a dirty little seal.

i still haven't been to europe because i used to spend a lot of my money in this bar, and this bar has made it impossible for me to wake in time to get a passport photo.

i haven't hung out here regularly in forever. once or twice, here or there, but not with any frequency and never on back-to-back nights.

i stopped in last night. there was a new-to-me bartender working. youngish and pretty. her hair far too clean for this bar. she looked more like a dental hygenist than a bartender. i bet she has never even dated a single customer or been involved in a fist fight with another woman. her boyfriend probably isn't an alcoholic and i doubt she hangs out at this bar, drinking luke-warm shots of whiskey and ripping open pulltabs on her nights off. she's probably never made a bad decision in her life.

long ago, this bar sold 32 ounce mugs upon which you could have your name [or nickname] engraved. my landlord has let me use his. so has some dude i met only once who goes by the name sasquatch. last night i tried to order a 32 ouncer and this pristine bartender [who wasn't even showing a single bra strap] denied me.

"you don't have one," she said.
"so?" i said.
"these are for the customers who have paid for them," she said.
"give me sasquatch's," i said.
"no," she said.
"get a pitcher," she suggested. "it's less expensive, anyway. pitchers are just four dollars."
"i don't want a pitcher," i said. "i want a 32 ounce glass. and stop talking about math."
"no," she said.

she obviously didn't know who i am.

4 comments:

Flenker said...

sounds like a bitch to me. You gotta put her in her place, welcome her to the bar. That's what I usually do to girls that I don't know.

Beverly said...

I used to feel possessive of the place. It's the circle of life.

Whiskeymarie said...

I felt that way about the Anchor & Quinlan's for years. I could go to either alone and find 5-10 of my friends there & I knew the bartenders.
Then I moved away & got old.

Now I never know anyone at the Anchor- ever.
And every time I go to Quinlan's now I hear myself saying at some point "who are these people and why are they in OUR BAR??"
Dammit.

Lollie said...

...introduce her to her first girl-on-girl fist fight...