Tuesday, January 16, 2001

In which I’m gonna make it after all…

So I'm sitting at the bar of a trendy Central West End restaurant, one of the few times in recent memory that I've actually gone to happy hour. No particular reason for being here. I just felt like having a beer after work, and the last few times I've done the cocktail thing somewhere such as The Loading Zone or The Complex, I've ended up staying well into the night, dancing with strange software salesmen from out of town, and generally regretting the whole enterprise the following morning. Tonight, I just want a beer. Maybe a bit of light supper, and then home.

One of the waiters approaches the service area to my right, signals the bartender and says, "I need two more bloody Mary's for the two bitter Mary's at table four."

I casually turn to look over my left shoulder. Naturally, it's two guys I know, and I agree with the waiter's assessment one hundred percent. I give a jaunty wave to Jeff and The Giant Queen and drain the last of my longneck, moving to join them. "Make it three," I say to the waiter. "This Rhoda is going to join the Marys."