Author’s Note: Due to the fact that: a) it is Friday, b) we are very slow, c) I am all caught up on my work, and d) Satan (my boss) is still here, I have to (at the very least) pretend to be working. Which is why I am going to write a second blog for today. At least if I am typing it will look like I am working. And I am really tired of pretending to look for files and re-reading medical records of clients. Thank you for your support.
If you have any trust in me, you will have read the blogs I link to here, and should have read Shady Dreams by now. If not, I will preface by saying that Timmortal’s blog on his “Cheers” bar made me reflect on my own “Cheers.” In proper blog courtesy, I therefore must begin by saying that this is actually a spinoff blog, if you will, and add that even so, my blog will not be ending with any half naked women sprawled anywhere. (Sorry to those of you who care.)
My local bar was O’Brien’s. At least, that’s what it became. It was originally Shark Club, and when it was, it was your typical seedy neighborhood tavern. Not many people went there, they preferred the more upbeat, cover-charging dj spinning bar across the street. But I was more of a beer-and-shot gal myself, and Shark Club had a jukebox, a pool table, and a dartboard, so it worked out well for me. A few months after I started frequenting Shark Club, it was bought out by two guys who closed it down for about a month to remodel. Really bummer time for me, I had to suffer at numerous other bars waiting for “my” bar to reopen. I knew the guys who had bought it out, and they planned on trying to attract a “younger” crowd. (Since I was only 21 myself, that sounded fine by me.) It finally reopened, and honestly didn’t look much different. They had kept the jukebox, pool table and dart boards, but added a small dj booth (for weekends only), some mirrored walls, and fresh paint. And, of course, the sign out front. Gone was the Shark Club – in it’s place was O’Brien’s.
My girlfriend and I would go there on the weekends, and since at that time I was working at a local bank, I would go every Tuesday night since I had Wednesdays off. I got to know the bartenders, Tom and Phil, and John the dj. My friend and I would typically arrive early on the weekends and claim our seats at the bar, socializing with pretty much anyone who came in. Tuesday nights were different though, those were my nights to chat with Phil, play MY music on the jukebox, and just mellow out.
Not many other people went to bars on Tuesday nights, and I liked it like that. But there was one Tuesday that changed my life forever – (insert foreboding music here).
As usual, I arrived at the bar around 10:30 or so. I sat down at the bar and Phil automatically gave me my Miller Lite and hunkered down to chat. There were a few people in the back of the bar playing pool, and a couple guys just hanging out, but as usual, the place was pretty dead. I had a couple more Lites and then the music stopped on the jukebox. So, I stood up and went to pick out my songs for the night, dollar bills in hand. As I stood there, staring at the songs I already knew by heart, I got that weird sensation of someone watching. I concentrated through my mild beer haze on pressing the numbers to a couple songs, and then finally looked up. Sure enough, a guy in glasses was standing there next to the jukebox, holding an Old Style and grinning at me. Now, at 21 I had perfected the “what the hell do YOU want?” look, and this was the perfect time to use it. But he caught me off guard when he took a swig of his beer and then commented, “Now I know why I stayed here so long tonight, I was waiting for YOU to walk in.”
Ok, I absolutely KNOW that is the corniest, most ridiculous line ever uttered, but for some reason, rather than scoffing at him, I laughed. Not the “God, you’re a moron” laugh, either. He turned and walked back to his buddies, and left me standing there. I turned back around and finished picking my songs, and went back to my seat at the bar. Still with a smile on my face. But when I sat down, Phil came over, shaking his head in dismay. “What?” I asked defensively. “Don’t do it, Dasi,” he warned. “That guy is bad news.” “Yeah, but he’s kind of cute.”
Apparently, Phil was well aware of the charms of Mr. Bad-Come-On, because he gave up even trying to dissuade me. And I, meanwhile, sipped my beer and watched him at the back of the bar. Near closing time, he finally approached me again. This time, he introduced himself properly. “I’m Kevin,” he said, hand extended. When I slipped my hand into his and introduced myself, our eyes met. Strange as it sounds, right then I felt that this would be something life-altering for both of us, and I was right. But on that particular night, the very first night, we both went our separate ways without even an exchange of phone numbers. And barely more than a few words spoken between us.
As I watched him leave with his buddies, Phil cleared his throat. “Closing time, Dasi. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I turned to smile at Phil, then got up and left. “See ya Friday, Phil.”
I wondered why Phil was so freaked out by such a harmless looking guy in glasses so thick they would probably break the floor before breaking themselves. How bad could he be? I thought. Believe me, I eventually found out.
To be continued…
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