Loose Ends

I was going to stop this nonsense in October when I wrote Signing Off. But Michelle's story was too compelling to not write about, the Darlene incident needed explaining, Thursday night was too nice to not try to capture, and so it went. How do I wrap up all these little vignettes? Maybe I can tie up some loose ends.

Thursday evening. A friend sits at the bar with me. He doesn't know the history between Darlene and me, so when he hears her say that she has no significant other, he says to me, "You ought to take her out." Take Darlene out? This is funny. Even without all that's happened between Darlene and me, it would be very unlikely. But explaining why is not the kind of thing you want to do while sitting at a noisy bar, so I just shake my head and say "No."  Later, as Darlene grabs a quick dinner at one of the bar tables, I stop at her table and tell her what my friend said to me. I figure she'll get a laugh out of it.

"Hey Darlene—my friend just told me he thinks I should take you out!" But Darlene doesn't laugh. Instead—

"I'm not interested in dating anyone right now," she says. I am chagrined to realize that Darlene thinks I'm hitting on her. How could she think that? I resolve to be more careful about what I say to Darlene.

A few days later I learn that I've been having sex with Terry for the past few months. This news is passed to me by a regular customer, who heard it from some of the waitresses. Apparently, having a few drinks with Terry on two or three occasions was enough to start the rumor. I resolve to be more careful about what I say and do with Terry.

Saturday night I sit at the bar and watch a football game on one of the bar TVs. Susan is waitressing tonight, but she's also  interested in the game. Several times she stops by my barstool to ask the score or comment on the game. Suddenly the customer sitting beside me says, "I think she's hitting on you."

What?

I resolve to leave Earth and find a planet with intelligent life. I only hope they have some nice bars.

Kimmie comes in later that night. I spot her sitting a few seats down the crowded bar.

"Kimmie!" I call to her above the noise of the packed restaurant and the rock music on the Muzak.

She sees me, jumps off her barstool and comes over to me. We hug each other for a few seconds. Turns out she's in town for a quick visit with friends. We have a little reunion, and then she rejoins her friends. It was really nice to see her again. I like Kimmie. She's a good person.

Bambi still works at Applebee's, but as a waitress, not a bartender. Her baby is doing very well.

Amy, the bar customer who once said to me "I will see you again", turned out to be a friend. We often meet at the bar and talk about work, about people we've known, about places we've been. We have a few drinks, some good laughs, some good conversation, and we go our separate ways.

That wraps it up. I guess there weren't that many loose ends to tie up after all.

A friend once called me an Applebee commando. The way she said it was more like, "Get a life!"

What can I say? She was right. I'll try to do better. Meanwhile, you be good.

Maybe I'll see you at the bar.

Friday Night

I received an email today from Amy, a bar customer. She read the chronicles and wanted to say 'hello'. She asked "How long before I'm a regular?"

Being a regular isn't a length of time. It's more like a state of mind. It's when people aren't surprised to run into you at Applebee's—they're surprised when they don't run into you at Applebee's. Like, "I was at Applebee's Tuesday night, and I looked around and I didn't see you. Where were you?"

Then again, maybe it really is a length of time. Who knows?

It's quarter past 10. The place is crowded but there are 1 or 2 seats at the bar. I walk around the bar in search of a vacancy and I spot Matt across the bar. Matt has certainly earned the title of "regular"—I've seen him at the bar for a couple of years.

I sit and order a burger and a beer from Bridgette and I talk to Matt for a while. I tell him that next time I'll come earlier so we'll have more time to talk.

"I came early," he says, "and I had to wait a half hour for a seat at the bar."

Ok, I guess I won't come early.

Matt leaves and Cathy puts down a cup of coffee on the bar and tells me she's going to join me. She disappears for a while and returns in her "civvies". She sits and eats a meal and we talk for maybe an hour. Cathy never acts friendly, and, in fact, she relishes the fact that she has a reputation for being mean. So while I enjoy her company, I can only assume that her hormones are out of balance and that soon enough she will regain her old, familiar personality.