when I passed a certain bar on the main drag of one of the towns I laughed like hell. I don't dare go in there even though my indiscretion was several years ago.
Small town bartenders generally work at the same ginmill for decades and most of them have long memories.
I had taken the Miata to work and needless to say was driving it home. The weather had changed during the course of the tour and the air was now crisp. I had figured this and had left the appropriate clothing in the trunk.
I was clad in helmet and goggles, leather jacket, scarf, jodphurs and knee high boots and I suppose fifty years earlier would have cut a dashing figure.
I spent the drive home on the curve road enjoying the twisties, gearing down and winding up as appropriate. It had been a late crew change. I had a long drive home and it was getting late.
I was in the middle of the main drag of a small town and saw the lights of a small town bar and decided a taste of bourbon might take the edge of the nip in the air. Of course, I was riding top down.
The bar was on the opposite side of the empty road so I whipped a tight U-turn and parked in front of it. I walked in cutting a rather odd figure from days gone by and confidently walked straight up to the bar.
The bartender saw me and came straight up to me. "Whisky for me and my friends," I said, rather loudly.
The small town drunks out at this late hour sidled up to the bar and the bartender poured them all a shot and then poured mine.
I simple knocked it back, looked at the bartender, threw a five spot on the bar and said, "I don't know any of these people," and walked out leaving him and the rest speechless.
No, I don't think I'll stop in there again.
To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this:
http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment