April Fool’s Night (Part 2)
The continuing adventures of a night on the town by myself. Read the first part so you know what’s going on.
8:11pm
I knew my first destination: a nameless corner bar that I had visited once before and only remembered because it had “Live Music on Fridays/Saturdays” written on a pub chalkboard. I recalled the Live Music being fantastic, but this may have been because of the bourbon I drank that night and not because the music was any good. So this time I needed to be sober.
As I walked to Live Music, I decided to establish some guidelines to my evening. Limitations nearly always result in pleasant bursts of creativity:
- You may only have one drink per bar.
- You must sit at the bar when possible.
- You must Engage in Conversation with anyone sitting next to you.
This last rule sent my heart a flutter, but I also knew that one drink could fix this. I strolled into Live Music and surveyed the room.
It was dimly lit, like all bars. And the people in it were also dimly lit. But there were people! Some sitting together, others sitting (perhaps?) alone. The drinking had not begun in earnest, nor had the Live Musicians arrived. It all felt vaguely unsettling, and I knew then why Google was uncertain about this whole going out alone thing.
I could feel the other people judging me, but somehow I managed to walk resolutely to the bar and sat down next to a tall man. He had a long, silky ponytail that descended in waves to his ass. His beer and phone were in front of him, like playing cards.
The seats were comfortable and swiveled for easy access to a conversation with my new neighbor, Ponytail. As I sat down, a bored bartender moseyed over. He was wearing an apron with the lead singer of KISS on it.
“How’s it going, boss?” he asked, flicking me a napkin. I’ve never been anyone’s boss in real life, so it’s cool to at least be one in a bar.
“Good, good.” I knew Ponytail was watching me. I would have to prove my worth.
“What’ll it be tonight?” Apron asked.
I had been scoping out the available whiskey, although I couldn’t read most of the labels in the dim light. I made a show of surveying the options in what I thought was a Discerning Manner. One said “Monkey Shoulder”, a neuron fired in my brain, and I blurted:
“Monkey Shoulder. On the ice.”
“What?”
“WITH ice,” I shouted. “On the rocks. With ice. Um.”
“I think I get it,” said Apron and left to pour the drink.
Ponytail chuckled, and I flushed, but luckily the bar was still dimly lit and so was my face. I twisted around to look at the TV so I wouldn’t have to look at Ponytail. There was a basketball game on it: Gonzaga vs. South Carolina. Apparently, March Madness was insane enough to spill over into April.
I know nothing about basketball or sports in general, but I knew this would be a recurring theme throughout the night. I would have to know things about this later, so I asked my brain whom I should root for:
“Well,” said Right Brain. “You had a roommate when you worked at Disneyland who went to Gonzaga.”
“That’s a shitty idea,” said Left Brain. “South Carolina is closer to North Carolina, where you grew up. Hell, your residential community was halfway in that state.”
“Monkey Shoulder. On the ice,” said Apron, smirking.
I snatched the glass and cradled it like a baby bird. “Yes, OK, thank you,” I said and slapped a $20 on the sticky counter. Aprol peeled it off like a shitty Velcro strap.
This place was a bust. I finished my drink as quickly as possible, tipped Apron, and abandoned Live Music just as the Live Musicians were entering.
Shit! No Live Music, no Live Conversation, I couldn’t order a drink, and then also Sports. I would need to turn my luck around at the next bar, so I made my way to Polk St.
