Bar Time. Chapter 558.
Many people think I am an alcoholic. I cannot blame them. The only time they see me is with a cocktail in front of me. As any of my bartenders will tell you, I am not particularly interested in alcohol. I do not know how to make a drink for myself, for instance, so I never do.
I also do not make my own coffee. I do not know how to use the machine. If I make coffee for myself, I make what an old girlfriend called 'cowboy coffee.’ I put coffee grounds and water in a pot on the stove and boil it. I drink the stock that results when the grounds settle after the boil.
The secret to happiness is low expectations.
I live in bar time. Conversations take months. Reading this essay is like listening to Vincent and I talk. It is one darned thing after another. It takes getting used to.
I just had a conversation with a pathology laboratory technician. I have some experience in the field. We were yukking it up, comparing experiences about autopsies we have participated in. It was great fun until the owner of the restaurant showed up.
The Venn diagram of my relationship with the owner of this restaurant usually intersects only as much as my catbird seat. I like it that way. He does not interest me. I dislike bloviating.
The owner tried to horn in on the A-B conversation I was having with the pathology tech. It is very unlike him to do that. It is his nature to talk people up, pretend to like them while taking their money, pretend to be interested in them while taking their money, pretend to be friendly while taking their money, pretend to….
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