A Night at the Bar

I sit at the bar, I sip my beer, I look out the window. The room is crowded, the bar is crowded. Tonight, I don't look at the people around me, I just listen to their voices. It's a babble of conversations, but now and then one voice momentarily rises above the babble for a few words, then all the voices blur together again. It sounds like . . .

babble . . . babble . . . babble . . .

(man's voice) "hey there . . . "

babble . . . babble . . .

(another man's voice) "So I said . . ."

female laughter . . . more babble . . .

(female voice) "And then I ran out of condoms . . ."

Huh?

I take a quick look at the female who said that. She's about 20 years old and very cute. What was that about?

I sit at the bar, I sip my beer, I look out the window. The manager walks out of the kitchen and up to my barstool.

"How do you spell Schwarzkopf?" he asks. "As in General Schwarzkopf."
Uh, like it sounds?

"Write it down." He hands me a notepad and pencil. I write it down. He walks around the bar and shows the pad to other bar customers. As he passes by me again he says, "You were right. I told the bartender to give you a beer on me." Then he disappears into the kitchen.

Huh? What was that about?

I sit at the bar, I sip my beer, I look out the window. A loud male voice to my right says, "You're very quiet tonight!" I look to my right and see a guy I recognize as a regular, though I never talk to him.

"Yes, I am," I agree with him.

"It's been a hell of a week," he says. "I'm being sued for two hundred thousand dollars."

"You are?"

"Yeah, I beat the crap out of this guy in a bar, so he's suing me."

"You beat him up?"

"He attacked me with a bottle—a broken bottle. I used to be an expert at karate. I beat the crap out of him."

"He attacked you?"

"He threatened me. He threatened to attack me with the bottle. So I beat him up."

After a while he leaves to talk to another customer. I'm alone at the bar again. I sip my beer. I look out the window. Then, I look to my left at the woman sitting two seats from me.

"Hello. Are you from Roanoke?"

She looks at me, then turns her barstool slightly toward mine. "I live in Galax," she says with a smile. "I'm in Roanoke on business."

"What's your business?"

"I'm an investment broker," she says. "Stocks, bonds, mutual funds. Boring stuff."

Boring is ok. It's just a night at the bar.