The Man in the Polka-Dot Bow Tie

A Halloween short story

It was crooked again: this time, slightly to the right. Looking in the mirror behind the counter, the bartender meticulously adjusted his red and white polka-dot bow tie and twisted both ends of his moustache while waiting for the next customers.

A few minutes later, a nun sat at the counter. Her habit and white wimple would have stopped most men from approaching her, but the man in the cowboy hat was not one to refuse a challenge. The moment she walked into the bar, his boots instantly pointed in her direction. He finished his drink and took the seat beside hers.

"The Flying Nun?"

"Nope."

"The Sound of Music?"

"Booooring…"

"Sister Act?"

"Seriously?"

"Okay, okay, you’re a big girl, I get it. Rebecca, from Ivanhoe?"

"The one from 1952?"

"Yes, that one. You have this Elizabeth Taylor vibe."

The nun blushed behind her white wimple. She and the cowboy exchanged a brief smile, but she soon returned to her contemptuous look. It would take more than flattery for him to win the game.

"You have good taste. But no, still wrong."

"Ah, thought I had guessed it! Okay, help me out here. What decade?"

"1970s."

"Seventies, seventies… not a big decade for nuns in cinema. Sorry, I’m drawing a blank here. What is it?"

"C’mon. It’s not that hard. It’s a classic."

"Classic. Nun. Seventies. Think, think, think… Ah! Of course! You’re Zoot! Zoot, from Monty Python and the Holy Grail! Very good reference there, loved that scene. Well done! Your turn now. Mine are easy. Let’s see if you can guess them."

Instead of a look of admiration on his face, she now saw defiance. The courage of a desert traveller brave enough to dare the sphinx itself to solve his riddle.

The man in the cowboy hat repeated his challenge.

"Drinks on me if you get it right."

She took her time scanning her challenger from head to toes, returning to his eyes with no rush to break the silence.

"The drinks would be on you no matter what I said, make no mistake. But I know the answer. You asked if I could guess them. Plural. Two movies. You also said they were easy, and you were right. Hat from Unforgiven, boots from Brokeback Mountain. Both were pretty obvious. But I like the irony in the costume, so it’s not too bad."

The cowboy tipped his hat and took it off, admitting defeat.

"Well played. What are you having?"

"Gin and tonic."

"Bartender. Two gin and tonics, please. One for the cowboy, one for our lovely Zoot over here."

The bartender nodded. He had already opened the bottle of Tanqueray. Twenty years in the job had taught him how to overhear even the most discreet conversations.

"Okay, Zoot. Since you’re the queen of the game, can you tell me where the bartender’s costume is from? I was about to say Pee-wee Herman, but the moustache threw me off."

"Good question. I was thinking Hercule Poirot from the British TV series, with the moustache and the bow tie. But the colour doesn’t quite match. Maybe we should ask him."

The bartender let out a sigh, slicing lemons with angry frustration. The bar counter was his big screen. He took pride in being his own character, creating a look unlike any other in the world. He had been cultivating his handlebar moustache and wearing the polka-dot tie every day for as long as anyone could remember.

This was the only time of the year when, instead of being awed at his originality and sense of style, people would offend him with pointless guesses and comparisons. He hated Halloween.