The Perfectly Blended

The past two nights at work- observed.
Last night, a scary looking grandmother came in. Saturday nights seem to be the night for moms and dads and their babies in strollers. This grandmother was having some trouble with getting the stroller in so I held the door and said to the infant in the stroller, ‘Hey little person.’ Something friendly I thought, but the grandmother asked in a nasty manner- ‘What did you say?’ I repeated what I said and realized that grandma was going to be weird.

All I want is a glass of wine and some appetizers. I set her up nearby, the baby chewing on a fork while grandma got her drink on. Then she realized the kid was hungry and should probably eat something, besides the French Onion soup which was spicy enough for grandma, but too spicy for an infant.

The current look for men these days is closed cropped hair on the side and slicked back or gelled hair, carefully quaffed and parted. And the tattoos. Nerds with tattoos still seems to be the way to go. I dislike tattoos and yearn for the days when having a tattoo meant you were tough. Now it means something that is not tough at all. The hip girls at work all wore their hair up in a bun, even when they’re not working.

The bar is crowded on the left side, the right side a few unoccupied bar stools. People come in and stand around the left side, not noticing empty bar stools on the other side. The service would be the same, if not better with less competition for beverages but these people are sheep like and go with the crowd.

A few drunks came in. So drunk they could barely stand but when they find they are cut off from drinking anymore they somehow find some sort of resolve to stand up and show their indignation. One drunk had friends who seemed to call the drunk’s parents who were nearby and collected him, carrying him into the back seat of their SUV while Mom sat in the front passenger side.

The bands that played were unknown to me but had enough people waiting to see them, sometimes even trying to get into the sound check. I did my best to prevent it, but realized that I had my own job to do and the door guys should handle it. They tried. The guy who checks ID’s suddenly quit on Friday and didn’t come in. It was up to me to prevent people from leaving with drinks. That was not easy and a few did get by, leaving me to collect empty cans of the worst beer, Pabst Blue Ribbon.

I think David Lynch is responsible for the resurgence of Pabst Blue Ribbon thanks to the Frank Booth character played by Dennis Hooper in Blue Velvet. It might have been ironic in the late 1980’s but nowadays it strikes me as dumb. But hey, it pays the bills and the tatted up hipsters in skinny jeans and slicked back hair drink it and the bartenders are happy to take their cash.

Last night I bummed a cigarette off a guy standing outside. For some reason he thought I was a singer and asked me to harmonize with him, and since I felt indebted to him I did. he suggested Silent Night of all songs and I proceeded to sing, quite ably from what I was told. After that we tried Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkel which didn’t go so well. We also did a bit of California Dreaming by the Mama’s and the Papa’s. I’m sure if we figured out who was Cass and who was Denny it would have sounded better. It was good to sing with someone and I found it somewhat spiritual.

I just remembered I got hit on twice by the same guy. The first time, as I was walking by him said into my ear that I smelled nice. A little while that he told me that I was a sharp looking man. He wasn’t bad looking either and I’m definitely not mad at him though it did take me by surprise…






Leave a Reply