connection

I left work tonight, looking forward to meeting a friend who was celebrating a birthday. As I was running late, I grabbed a taxi, stopped at home to get my gear, and was on my way. I got to the bar, and engaged in a discussion with the Helpful Bartender.

Me: Any drink specials tonight?
HB: Yeah, buy one beer, get another for the same price.

We don't like Helpful Bartender, who looks like a roadie for Creed.

I went in search of the birthday girl. I beared through 15 minutes of reeeeaallly bad karoke and the party was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if I had the wrong night. Once again I tangled with Helpful Bartender.

Me: Hey, was there a birthday party here tonight, booked for XXXX?
HB: There are, like, four parties booked for tonight.

I don't recall asking numbers, just a name. What should I expect from Helpful Bartender?

I went to check another bar on the block, but no luck. I didn't have her phone number, but I didn't want to go home, so I beat a retreat to The Local. I seat myself at the bar:

Me: What beer is that, the one with the giant olive for a tap?
AHB: That's Stratford pilsener. It's really good.
Me: I'll have a pint please.

Now that's an Actual Helpful Bartender.

I order a pint of Stratford Pilsner, which has a good clean finish and a funky olive for a beer tap handle. Radiohead's Amnesiac album is playing on the stereo. I can't imagine any other bar in the city playing this album. It makes the perfect soundtrack for me in this moment.

A man to my left talks about his family and shows his tattoos to a woman he wants to sleep with.

The bartender demonstrates how to make an Apple Crumble shot (1/4 shot Goldchalger, 1/4 Frangelico, 1/4 Sour Applez, 1/4 shot Butterscotch schnapps. All it needs is some Oatmeal stout to top it.)

There's a pretty girl at the bar reading a book. Her hair is the colour of merlot. She must be reading poetry or philosophy. IIt's been my experience that if a pretty girl is reading a book in a bar, she is always reading poetry or philosophy: usually something like Rilke, Kirkegaard or Nietzche. The effect is lost if one were to sit in a bar reading the latest Danielle Steele paperback.

There are four people at a table to the side, They're playing Connect Four.

I read an email on my phone that makes me smile with the mere mention of the words "I would like to get together with you".

I sit in a moment of peace with my pint, and I forget all the plates I spin in the air. I love this moment. There are many moments like this, but this one is mine.

I walk the four blocks home and I savour the smell of my neighbourhood. It smells like trees and rain.