With love and trust that shows all summer

“I was in Viet-NAM for 27 months,” repeated the staggering, white-haired man, “and the best meal I had was dog.”

There are reasons most people do not get drunk on Monday nights, this man and the rest of compatriots sitting at the bar gawking at the bartender are one of the main reasons I avoid bars late Monday evenings. However, my roommate was also interested in the bartender, and is much closer to her age than the rest of the people in the bar, so off we went to grab “a drink” which quickly turned into several beers, and at least three shots.

I was tired and still somewhat feeling the effects of Saturday night’s party and the blaring “best of the 80’s mix” that was invading my ear canal was not helping. I stepped outside for a second and was ready to join in conversation with the drunken elderly men outside. There was the white-haired man, the bar/restaurant’s owner, and a gentlemen who nearly started a fight after being asked about that night’s Nats game. I was taking in the conversation when I spotted two brown mice playing in the window to the restaurant adjoining the bar in Cleveland Park. My roommate joined me outside just as I noticed the mice. The owner and the rest of the crowd saw me mention the mice to my roommate, and I gave a nod to the owner letting him know I wasn’t going to say anything. It was this spotting that somehow got my new friend to get uncomfortably close to me and tell me about his best meal in ‘nam ad nauseum. Now, my only escape from hearing more about other disgusting meals this man had in his sorted past was to retreat back to the thumping tunes of the 80’s.

Waiting for me was a fresh beer that I hadn’t asked for, and honestly didn’t want. Another elderly gentlemen donned in a trucker hat had a bottle of corona light, some sort of mixed drink, and a glass of wine in front of him. Both he and my roommate were egging on the bartender to dance more wildly, clapping their hands and hollering. The night continued on, she continued to dance, more drinks I didn’t ask for were put in front of me. We talked with a few younger people who were just getting off of their shifts at other restaurants and bars. I got far drunker than I planned, got more than my fill of Madonna songs for the year, but only a $30 tab to split between my roommate and me.

We left when the bar closed; drunk and slightly sick to my stomach. What lessons did I learn? It really does pay to have your bartender be your friend; old drunks hang out in bars on Monday nights, and dog only tastes good until you find out what it is.