See previous post for Part I.
A bit of history: Two weeks prior, some ne’re-do-wells broke into my locker at the YMCA and nicked my money clip, which contained among other items my driver’s license. So what I had that night in
The bar maid at O'Connells took one look at the temporary and said, “Nope, we can’t serve you with this.” “Whaaa?” said
And she walked away. I was crestfallen, but I tried to put on a good face. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad deal not drinking. I had to motor back up to
A few minutes later, the bar maid came back, and before Ryan could get his order out of his mouth, she said to me, “No, you don’t get it. You can’t even be here.”
No. No, no, no, no, no. Noooooo. No. Please, no.
“Are you serious? I drove all the way from
“Nope,” the bar maid said.
Ryan and I stagger out of the bar, stunned at this rejection. After a bout of sailor talk and foot stomping, I call Schmidt, who explains the situation to The Blanks, who promise to put in a good word for me at O’Connells. We walk to another bar within spitting distance of O’Connells, which – like every other flippin’ bar I’ve visited recently – served me with a smile.
A few minutes later, Schmidt shows up, we slam our Miller Lites, and we head back to O’Connells. The Blanks have explained the sitch to the owner, who says she’ll leave the decision (pass the buck?) to the door man. I pathetically show the man my temporary, my Y card, and my debit card.
Again, no. Again, cripes!
Knowing we were beat, Ryan and I headed back to the friendlier confines we’d just left. We ended up making the best of a sucktastic situation by catching up with each other and conversing with good folks at the other bar. Schmidt later made an appearance to say it was the greatest Blanks show ever. And that they, at my request, dedicated a song to me. Not bad consolation, actually.
We ended the night by hoofing it over to Mike Ried’s house and rapping with him and Fancy Dan Nordheim for a while before catching a cab back to Ryan’s.
So what’s my take? And what does the