I stepped into my favorite restaurant bar at a quarter to five, seated at what I’ve come to think of as “my” table, since it seems I get it nearly every time. Maybe I should see to getting a little plaque made up. I ordered a cosmo and settled back to wait on my friend. I surveyed the people at the bar and what I found was a goldmine. I couldn’t get my WordPress account opened fast enough.

Left to right:

Balding man, grey hair trimmed short. He was in blue jeans, a black hooded sweatshirt under a jean jacket with white tennis shoes. Describing his appearance makes me feel that his best days were the 80’s. He stayed absorbed in his phone the few minutes I got to observe him. I’d wager he’s still figuring it on, maybe navigating YouTube. He polished off his light beer and left abruptly. Maybe to drink PBR’s in his buddy’s garage while bangin’ some drums and smoking a little weed.

He was replaced shortly after by a heavyset dude in his 30’s, clearly fresh off a construction job, but obviously he’d taken the time to change his boots. Otherwise, they would still be sweeping up mud. I didn’t notice what he’d ordered to drink. Maybe sweet tea, maybe a dark draft, I dunno. His friend came from a booth on the far end to collect him. He and his wife had arrived just moments before and had probably been getting situated when he came in, so they didn’t notice him. Funny. Cell phones, what a marvel.

He was eventually replaced with two late twenties brunettes. One knew several of the employees, which made me think she was dating one or maybe worked there herself. Her friend stayed enamored with her phone for the most part. They drank some Moscow mules and then ordered a “Love Martini”. Phone girl drank hers, Friendly did not. And I don’t blame her. While aesthetically pleasing, they are thick and sickly sweet.

Next in line at the corner we have a young 9not that young, probably early 30’s) blonde with a fake bun, wrapped in a long, vibrant headscarf. Her Patagonia jacket was draped over the back of her stool. Blue jeans, camo socks, striped Toms shoes completed her ensemble. She steadily drank coffee with Baileys, but left more than a dreg each time. She attempted to stay deeply engaged with the man seated next to her in a red and black flannel, Carhartt work pants, pull-on work boots. He was more interested in talking to the guy on his right, whom I thought was a woman for some time, due to his hair. More on that in the next paragraph. Two lesbians strolled in languidly after awhile, and he became engrossed in talking with them. They stood between him and hippie, one tall, blonde, in camo jacket and leopard high tops, looking bored. One had an arm brace. I don’t even know what happened. They sat beside the two brunettes on the other side of the blonde, but none offered conversation. Flannel wearer became animated showing off his Chandler/ Joey style “Best Buds” bracelet, and I caught sight of a diamond stud twinkling merrily. Oh yes, I was having a GREAT time. Blondie was giving off some serious “You’re-peeing-on-my-territory” passive-aggressive vibes, but neither the lesbians nor the lumberjack seemed to notice. The normal thing to do would have been to relinquish her seat to one of the new girls since he seemed to know them better, but she wasn’t giving an inch. I could sense her glare as she typed texts into her phone rapidly as the night progressed. The lesbians didn’t stay, but she did. She probably works at Gap, but is going to school part-time, on and off, for her esthetician’s license. Or maybe palm reading.

The next patron was a solidly built man with a moustache and long curly steel gray hair secured with two plain black bands placed at even intervals. He never removed his gray Carhartt coat, and he sat there for hours. He was wearing jeans and tennis shoes that he had also clearly changed into before coming into the bar. They were much trendier and less white than the first guy’s. He had aviator sunglasses stuck into his collar. And imagine my surprise to see he was drinking Michelob Ultra from a bottle. There’s no accounting for taste. I pegged him as an electrician.

Next was a trim lady with stick straight dirty blonde hair. I don’t mean that it was in need of a shampoo, I’m simply describing the color. Her black leather jacket was across the back of her chair and she wore a plain green cotton shirt. A sensible black crossbody bag lay on the bar, just between her and ponytail. She struck me as very wholesome and LL Bean shopper. She clearly didn’t want to draw attention to herself, only talking to her companion and drinking red wine. They were well matched. He helped her into his jacket as they departed. I am under the impression they were off to dinner in front of the fire. She probably works from home as a medical transcriptionist. Low drama.

I don’t have much to say about her companion. They both kept a very low profile, even though they were front and center of the bar. He had silver hair, a bald spot, and wore silver-rimmed glasses. Blue shirt, lightweight khaki jacket. Sensible. He might be an accountant. Maybe a Realtor. They probably breed Labradors or Springer Spaniels.

Then we have Mr. Muscle. Clearly has boosted his size with some help from a syringe at more than one point in his life. Coming to the realization over his draft beer that he’s not 25 anymore and his back hurts. And his knees. And you know, things just aren’t as clear as they used to be. He probably drives a new model Mustang or Camaro. He was actively working on the woman next to him. She was a curvy one with blonde highlights. She drank white wine. Black puffy vest. She humored him but seemed to be more interested in the elderly woman to her right. She kept turning her head quickly to acknowledge when he spoke but really liked talking to the older woman. Probably not a bad call. At first, I thought that’s who she had come with, but the longer I watched I realized it wasn’t so. And after my waiter found out what I was up to, he verified a few key points.

Granny was sporting a butter yellow collared sweater. She had a heavy denim shirt across the back of her chair that is embroidered with many pink roses. She’s having a great time, and I just know she has a grating Yankee accent. No Sothern woman conducts herself the way she is holding court over there. One can sense these things. Her hair was grey, but you could tell she’d bleached it to the color of her sweater for many years. It was rounded like a fluffy football helmet. She also wore black-rimmed glasses. I was completely sure she was a Very North Yankee but has lived here awhile. Probably since her husband retired from an automobile manufacturer or tire factory. I was also under the impression that she was a regular here (all this confirmed to be true by our waiter). Under her rose embellished jean jacket hung a tan canvas bag with her name embroidered across it in two lines of cursive. A navy stripe ran across the top printed with lighthouses. This is where my dear Rhonda stepped in. For whatever reason, we couldn’t bear not knowing what was printed on the navy stripe. So off she trots to find out. I was two drinks in and giggly. The stitching read “Udder Mudder”. When she received this gift, she thought it was referring to cows, which thoroughly perplexed her. Rhonda described her as sassy and saucy, and me in Northern form. I tried not to take offense, as I understood the implication. She wasn’t too up to date, though, and chatted on her flip phone for a few moments. I’m sure she was wearing sensible shoes in case something happened and she had to hustle. Or maybe she was a mall walker. She was accompanied by a man in a cream shirt who cannot keep her attention. She and the younger girl had too much to discuss. At first, I wasn’t even sure they were together, she paid him so little mind. He attempted to hold a conversation with the meathead while the “girls” talked about cosmetics. Oh, I guarantee Granny was a Mary Kay pink Cadillac saleslady. He struck me as the type to be into politics. Seems a little vicious. Maybe he’s mad because his wife has ignored him for the last fifty years? Wears glasses, probably begrudgingly. Arms crossed, maybe nobody was agreeing with his opinions when he got a word in edgewise. He was drinking a light beer, but I bet he would have preferred a whiskey. His wife was putting away the wine, but he was of the era that insisted on driving their Buick everywhere. They did eat before they left. A salad for Granny. Gotta maintain that girlish figure. Bet she’s got a pound cake on her counter right now.

Which finally brings us to the guy on the end in a cream shirt, pretending to be the intellectual type, concentrating solely on his phone. Turns up his bottled beer ever so often. Not engaging with anybody for anything. He’s totally missing out. He’s on the end where the waiters hang out, waiting for their tables’ drinks, exchanging complaints about diners’ requests and plans for when they get off. And I wonder too.

Me, I’m there with my good friend, steadily drinking an assortment of pink drinks with clear liquors. We didn’t have a deep conversation tonight, but we had a dang good time. The company is the best. Try to stay off your phones, people. You might meet someone worth talking to. Oh, to be a bartender.