nobody asked…

Not what you’re thinking…read on…

The creative juices were gushing today. Having finished my last gig about 4:00 on nothing all day but morning coffee and a quick snack, I decided to quit early and drop in to one of the 7,387 7,388 7,389 rapidly growing number of bars, grilles, pubs, bistros and restaurants in the local area. Roomie was going to a meeting this evening, so I could just sit, relax, enjoy. There had been several ideas tumbling around in my head all day, and this seemed a good opportunity to make notes before they floated away like dandelion puffs on a breeze.

This Bar and Grille has been one of my favorites for years. The change of ownership about a year ago did not diminish the quality of the food, the here-to-serve-you-with-a-smile attitude of the wait staff, or the having-a-great-time-thank-you-very-much demeanor of the clientele. Contemporary architecture utilizing natural wood and plenty of glass, complimented with lush indoor plantings, gives the place a most inviting appeal. When dining alone I opt for one of the elevated tables in the far end of the bar area. From that vantage point I can see about 6 big-screen TVs suspended from the vaulted ceiling. The closest three were tuned to CNN, ESPN and the Weather Channel. A few people are in the bar, but the happy-hour crowd has not yet arrived. The bite of the Merlot held its own against the bacon cheddar burger. It’s nice to have company in this kind of setting, but this was one of those times made for flying solo. Just perfect.

Nearing a full page of outline notes for a life-defining blog piece that will most certainly be on the watch-list for a Pulitzer, I must have had a deer-in-the-headlights look as I absent-mindedly looked around the bar, not focusing on anything, just blankly staring out as if the words I sought would magically appear written in the air around me. The unmistakeable click-clack of heels on hardwood broke my mental meandering and directed my attention to the bar entrance. Not a “head-turner,” but a not unattractive woman I guessed to be in her 50s, dressed like she probably came from work in one of the nearby office buildings, strolled — no — strutted to the far end of the bar and assumed her perch on a barstool. The strut of defiance as I immediately called it, was matched by a dour expression permanently chiseled onto a square-set jaw. Never appearing to make eye contact with anyone at anytime, not even the bartender, her entire presentation silently screamed “IF YOU SO MUCH AS LOOK AT ME OR SPEAK TO ME I WILL SEVER YOUR GENITALS FROM YOUR BODY AND CRAM THEM DOWN YOUR THROAT!”

OK…I mean, like, I’m busy with my own stuff, and right now I’m not interested in anyone, especially you, Frau Bitchkin. With focus and concentration broken, I ordered some glue - another Merlot. Though she was probably 30 feet or so from where I sat, she was well defined by sunlight streaming through the skylite directly overhead. As the barkeep delivered her iced tea — why did she sit at the bar and order tea? — oh, I see, she smokes — she grabbed a packet of sugar between thumb and index finger and started shaking it, you know, the wrist-snap kind of movement people make with those little packets. Most folks usually give it a couple of snaps and then rip off the end and use it. For several minutes she snapped that poor little packet, pausing only occasionally to turn a page in the magazine she’s holding in the other hand.

Finally she ripped it open and dumped it into her glass. As I was about to get back to my notes, she started the routine with another packet. A few minutes and a couple of hundred wrist snaps later, she added that one to her tea. And then a third! By now the after-work crowd was starting to arrive and assume their battle stations at the bar. It was the typical crowd of hotties and hustlers and horny old men. Some of them had already become entranced with the tea-sweetening ritual at the far end of the bar. She was oblivious to the giggles and whispers and probably had no idea of the 5-to-2 odds on bets she would go for a fourth packet. Without removing her eyes from the magazine, she picked up the spoon and started the stirring process, which went on for several more minutes. She appeared totally unconcerned about her food order which had arrived several thousand snaps and stirs ago and which now must be asymptotically approaching room ambient temperature.

With the demo over, I started hastily making notes, the first being “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” which may not be clinically correct, but sure as hell seemed to fit what I had just observed. I remember thinking “this woman has a problem and needs to get back on her medz.” My path to the exit was directly past her. She quickly glanced up for the first time as I passed by, and I am almost positive I saw the glint of a very sharp knife hidden in the fold of the magazine. OK, I just imagined the knife, but something in my britches said “get a move on, get us out of here fast!” And so we did.

On the chance that she saw enough of my face to recognize again, I think I’ll try bistro number 7,390 next time. I hear they’ve got wonderful pre-sweetened tea.