Being sans work this week, and weary from my unremitting search for a better employment; I opted to venture out into the real world and enjoy the camaraderie of other adults. Avoiding further symptoms of cabin fever, I beautified myself a sufficient amount to be in public long and meandered into my favorite dive bar and frolic with the natives. I won’t state its name because, after all, this is my secret hideaway. It must be my lucky day because my favorite gal is tending the bar. There is nothing quite as uplifting as conversing with a person with a groovy persona.
The jukebox is sporadically playing and each song is more random that the next. Currently the television is tuned to a muted rerun of “Cops” and the woman sitting next to me is providing a scene by scene commentary which is quite humorous. This woman is advising the addict on the screen to use some “real tears” to get out of her arrest. “McCrackin” (this is honestly her name) is missing a few teeth and has clearly familiar with a pipe at some point in time. Nevertheless, she is pure comic relief and comes across as quite the congenial character.
Suddenly I find myself distracted by a watermelon. One of the seasoned regulars has offered this fruit up to the bartendress in lieu of a cash gratuity. The dialogue was comical and went as follows: bartender: Aren’t my melons big enough? In which the patron replied “They are sweeter!” Ahhh good times. Just what the doctor ordered.
Flash forward 30 minutes. As a gentleman orders a “White Stallion” which, incidentally, sounds great to me as well, a flood of sirens erupt outside. Ms. McCrackin (who also proclaims to have no “on” or “off” switch on her mouth) says “Oh no, they are after me! It’s not my fault the left the gate open.” As I chuckle at the sheer thought of her escaping the funny farm, she says “I can go from zero to 60 in three drinks.” I am just about to crack a sarcastic comment when The Beatles remind me to “Let it Be.” So that’s exactly what I did. Thanks, Mr. Lennon.
A dialogue ensues when aforementioned White Stallion returns for a refill and gives me a history lesson. You see, my hand bag depicts a black and white photo of a Hollywood starlet (I haven’t a clue which one, but she resembles Anna Nicole Smith) and Mr. Stallion tells me she is a pin up model whose photo was originally painted on an aircraft during WWII. Incidentally, it was the first plane to drop a bomb on Hiroshima. One never knows when and where they will gain information. Until today I had no idea there were portraits on these planes. Go figure.
What a fabulous distraction this adventure has proven to be. I gather my belongings and bid adieu to these kindly folks who have provided me a great "alibi" for the day and greatly lifted my spirits. An old codger, who has been quietly propped up in his stool the entire time-fighting off sleep, also decides it is time for him to go. While he is assisted into his tricked out motorized cart, he promises to return after his afternoon nap to reap further havoc. Somehow, I believe him. Today I realized that there truly are bars where “everybody knows your name.”
*A special thanks to EM for making this day about 1000 times better
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