Today’s Sunday Morning Walk began at two in the afternoon. I walked east three blocks and then south four. Walked inside a bar, sat down at the long planks and ordered a flamed round of angus and a frosty beer. The bartender, a friendly, sporty, forty-something woman asked me if I wanted anything else on the burger. “Cheese and bacon,” I told her, happy that she asked. “But you don’t want any lettuce or tomatoes or pickles?” That sounded sort of nice, but I really just wanted the “cheese and bacon,” as I told her again with the same three words. “Really though, no lettuce?” At this point, I realized I needed to choose new words.
So I broke a small grin and said, “if I’m going to kill myself, I may as well to the point.” She agreed.
In the meantime the other bartender kept walking across my field of vision (between me and the Red-birds, losing bad to the Cubs). We smiled at one another several times, she seemed tired. She was wearing camouflage pants. Camouflage capri pants.
In a strangely forward way, and without words, the older bartender caught me exchanging glances and smiling at something silly the young bartender said. I had been caught crush-handed. “She seems nice,” I bravely said to the older bartender, hoping for a laugh at least. “She’s my daughter,” she returned.
“I’m enchanted.”
That was my dumbfounded reply, badly hidden behind a sizable gulp of beer and a smile. I then paid for my stay, sure to tip good, and left minutes before the bottom of the ninth. I like it there. A good family atmosphere. Maybe someday I’ll go back.