Yesterday my friends Kat and Brian called me up. I met Brian through a Burningman kegger my camp threw to raise funds. He and his cohorts saved the day, and became buds instantly. Pooks and I actually ended up going up with them. Kat went out with my boy Phil. It’s a wonder her and I hadn’t met sooner, as we have several mutual friends/acquaintances. They are busy folk, what with work, school, and a relationship (sounds familiar…), and wanted to meet up at the bar. “The bar” is otherwise known as The Buccaneer, or the Buc, located in Sierra Madre. It’s a nice dive with a kickin juke box, and a decent pool table. What more do you want from your dive?
The bartneder is an old soul by the name of Tony. Tony is a shaved bald man who could pass for 30 something. In all honesty, I don’t have any idea as to his real age. I’d guess late 30’s to early 40’s. At any rate, he is a mild mannered guy with a quick wit and wisdom beyond his years (however many they may be).
After a great deal of math homework (I sure missed logarithms), and some quiche for dinner (the frozen ones from Trader Joe’s rock, btw), I rushed up the hill to the buc. To my dismay, I found that Kat, Brian, and “the crew” had left, due to Kat’s feeling sick. I guess I could lay on a guilt trip, as I was pleaded with, hounded, and guilted into going in the first place, but I missed them a lot, and Kat was sick, so I will let this slide… but it will be noted in the log. 🙂
Tony was there, though, who told me the whole story with Kat being sick. I hadn’t been to the bar in many months, so we caught up a bit. He had a baby a little over a year ago, so I asked how the munchkin was. This child has made him a new man. He said his outlook has completely changed. I can’t put my finger on what was different, but he looked like he knew something that he wanted to tell the world, but lacked the words. For Tony, that face isn’t as grand as you may think. He’s a subtle man, and the gleam in his eye was all I needed to deduce this inner struggle for vocabulary.
He shared some of his goings-on, and I left earlier than I intended, and happier than I’d hoped.
Bartenders are wise folk, and I don’t mean those guys who make drinks at restaurants. If you can’t afford a shrink, go to your local dive and throw one back with Tony.
…or just jerk it.