Truman Capote once said, “In this profession, it’s a long walk between drinks.” Tis true, as I discovered in the December chill last week.
I knew my night would end up at Grace’s to see my friend behind the tender bar there, but first I decided I would end my three year boycott against Chaucer’s, a neighborhood pub located at 20th and Lombard. It is named for the great writer of the Canterbury tales, Geoffrey Chaucer. Chaucer’s used to be a great place, oozing character with plants aplenty, free drinks for birthday patrons, and enough dollars bills taped to back bar mirror for the bartender, Jack, whose been pouring there for 26 years, “to start a retirement fund.” But when the owner suddenly died and the place was sold to the owner of South Street Souvlaki, things started to change. Treasured employees left, the plants left, and a lot of the people that had been coming there for years left. But last night, I just got over it. Maybe it was Jack (who played Creedence all night and looked like a band member himself), or maybe it was my perfectly poured O’Reilly’s stout. But, alas I will return, and I might even bring my beer club along with me.
Here comes my long walk. ‘Twas spent scratchin’ me noggin’ on what to write about this week. I am actually so indecisive that my roomate bought me one of those Magic Eight Balls that you turn upside down to get a decision on whether or not you should like the boy sitting next to you in math class. It’s been g-r-e-a-t. I just asked the brainy ball if I should go for a run today, “Outlook not so good.” Perfect!