black-bunny
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Must. Waste. Time.
I�ve had a lot of good times this last year. Mostly, at the bar. I�ve met a
number of fascinating folks, some just in passing, some who I hang with
regularly at the bar, all interesting.
I have this very fond, if hazy, memory of a night I showed up at my favourite
tavern. I was still on the graveyard shift, so I must of showed up at 1
a.m. (drinking at 11 p.m. feels too much like getting drunk at noon, somehow
making to it 1 a.m. stops the cognitive dissonance).
I saddled up to the bar, ordered a 50 and people watched. At this point, most
folks are loaded, the crowd gets a little weird, an odd mix of punks (young and
old alike), barflies, and folks wanting to show their tough side after spending
a mint at the martini or dance bar. All in all, it�s really interesting to
watch. Sometimes people come up and talk to me, and more often than not, they
are pleasant. Men chat me up, ask me what I think of the place (I sometimes get
the �you�re too pretty to be here�), and women will often compliment my hair or
ask me where I bought my shirt/pants/boots.
One evening this gentleman came up and started talking to me about my hair,
saying it was the colour of autumn leaves in the Laurentians (!) and then
sauntered off. He came back a few minutes later, and started a conversation
about the coma he was in a few years ago, and how he saw the edge of life, and
how he made a decision to comeback. I was listening with rapt attention. He had
fallen at work, and now could never really work again because he head was never
quite right after. He had to learn how to walk and speak all over again. He
couldn�t drink anymore either, saying that he became incoherent after a beer.
But he never stopped coming here, because it was a place he loved.
Then he sauntered off again. I was amazed. He took 20 minutes of my time, was a
perfect gentleman, didn�t ask to buy me a beer, or for my phone number and was
satisfied with telling his story.
All I wanted to say was �Come back perfectly interesting guy! Tell me more!� But
it was late and the bar was closing soon.
Now, there is a trick to staying in a bar after-hours.
Sit at the bar, perfectly still, make a lot of eye-contact with the bartender,
and if they ask you if you are waiting for someone, just say you were hoping to
stick around for a little while. It helps if you�ve been going to the bar for
years, and you�ve come in alone.
Not stirring up shit while your there is a good rule too.
So, there I sit, quietly, and sip the water I�m drinking (not having a beer in
your hands helps them with the legality of everything).
Then the bartender, with a couple of friends at the bar, locks up, turns off
almost all the lights, and lets the fun begin.
I proceeded to get very, very fucked up. I laughed it up with total strangers,
and made them pee themselves with my one-liners.
I love making people laugh.
I reduced myself and a couple of female patrons to tears, and did Jager shots
with abandon. My favourite moment came when one person was seemingly yelling to
no one in particular (he was talking to someone in the cooler behind the bar)
and I turned to my fellow drinkers and slurred, �You know who he�s talking to?
To that �exit� sign right there!�
He really did look like he was talking to the door, and we just about died.
That�s all really. Good times, what I remember.
�
Held my shit together for 20 minutes.
Then I just let it all go.
I feel better.
Damn.
1:34 p.m. - 2004-07-30
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
previous - next
|
|
|
|
|
|