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.