Friday night in the big bad city

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I admit I have a strange set of priorities. And my mind doesn’t work like normal people’s minds. I’m obsessive for one thing. I’ll give you an example:

They have this great deal at this bar on Telegraph on Friday nights. From 4 to 5 they have 60 ounce pitchers of beer for $6. Then from 5 to 6 the price goes up to $7. Then from 6 to 7 they go up to $8. And so on. And it’s a great deal. Because normally the pitchers will go for $23 or more.

So now it’s 4:30. And I want to get to the bar before the stroke of 5 so I can get the $6 pitcher. But I have to take care of some business first. So I’m running around to different locales taking care of different things and it’s like an episode of Beat the Clock. The pressure is mounting. And I’m watching each minute ticking by before the deadline. Then I run into an expected hassle at one place which eats up valuable time. I actually shout in frustration “AAAIGGHH!!” So now I’m really sweating it. It’s like 4:55 and I got a long walk to get to the bar in time. So I’m half-walking half-running. I finally sidle up to the bar. But the bartender behind the bar is messing around with the cherries and olives and ice for the drinks. And merrily chatting away with the patrons. So now I’m really sweating it. When he finally sidles up to me I say “I’d like a pitcher of Sierra Nevada!!!”

The bartender pours the pitcher and brings it over to me. “That’ll be 6 dollars,” he says. VICTORY, I think. But then he corrects himself. “No that’ll be 7 dollars.” It’s now 2 minutes after 5. AAAIIGGHHH!!

I’m literally in a rage as I walk to my seat. For some reason I get crazy obsessive about stuff like that in my brain. I have to keep reminding myself “It was just a dollar. It was just a dollar.” But I can’t help it. I’m still pissed.

I go to sit by the window seat up front, but there’s no chair there. The guy sitting next to me is nursing his pitcher and eating his dinner and reading “The Hobbit” (I have no idea why I notice these details).. And he’s using the seat next to him to drape his jacket over and he has his bags of stuff on the seat.  So I have to traipse across the crowded bar in search of a chair I can use. I finally find one and lug it over to my spot.So now I’m doubley pissed. I was already pissed about losing the dollar. And now this guy is selfishly hogging two chairs for himself. Bastard! But I don’t want to make an issue about it. Because I’m gonna be sitting next to him for the conceivable future. So why get off to a sour start. But I could tell he noticed that I didn’t make an issue about it because he watched me as I went off in search of another chair.

Anyways, later the guy sitting at the seat next to me says. “Excuse me, I have to get up and go. And I don’t have time to finish my pitcher of Modelo Especial. Could I avail you to take possession of the rest of my pitcher?”

“Why you surely can” I said, as he slides his half-full pitcher of beer my way. “That’s very sweet of you.” We push knuckles in a show of manly camaraderie. So now I have even MORE beer than I deserve.

Sometimes I think the gods are fucking with me for sport.

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