I have a witness to the event that made this a day to celebrate. A day to cherish. John Gilliam is my witness. I will never forget how to spell John's surname. Two days ago I sat in the back seat of a car with John as he slowly and carefully repeated the spelling (for the fourth time) to the United agent responsible for providing him with service. The agent was in India, we were in Broomfield, the agent didn't understand John, John didn't understand the agent. All we knew was that his flight was cancelled again. An hour later, we learned that the soonest he'd be able to fly to Austin, Texas was two days later. Seems Austin has been hit by cold, wet weather. The very cold kind. The kind that stops airplanes from landing.When John spells his name, he enunciates each letter perfectly well. He doesn't say "G for George" or "M for Mary" - has simply states each letter. My personal favourite was his "M" - he almost used two syllables to distinguish "M" from "N" - according to John this is "EHM-ah."
I digress. John was my witness. He walked into the Lazy Dog with me. At noon, I had let him lead the way as we hiked to Boulder from Tex's abode. Our lazy morning had been interrupted only by the persistent movement of the clock. We put our guitars down, turned off the music, grabbed his luggage, locked the doors, and went out into the cold for the trek to Boulder. Don't be impressed - it's a mere six blocks from the house.
I'd like to remember her name. The bartender. She is in her upper twenties, I'd guess. And her face reminded me of Phoebie's from Friends. She has long, brown, straight hair.
John ordered a Fat Tire. He's been drinking Shiner at the house, but at the bars he's been ordering Fat Tire on tap. From Copper to Winter Park to Vail and to Boulder - Fat Tire has been getting a bit of a nudge from John.
But I didn't know what I wanted to drink yet, so I asked for a minute to think - then I asked her (oh, let's call her Phoebie for fun - she should be named) - I asked Phoebie if she made a good Bloody Mary. She said she though so and asked if I liked them spicy.
Now, I do like spicy Bloody Maries, but I don't like them filled with Tobasco. And I don't like them TOO hot. It's a very personal thing, a Bloody Mary. Sometimes the heat comes from the horseradish. Some people don't use horseradish (a shame). Worchestershire, celery seeds, celery, olives, pickles, you just never know what someone's going to do. The possiblilities are endless. Anyway, I thought about it for a millisecond and then decided that Phoebie probably wouldn't make the thing too hot, so I said, "Sure... spicy is good."
As she walked to the bottles of house liquor, I quickly added, "Oh! With Absolut, thanks."
And that's when it happened. The glorious, beautiful Phoebie decided to follow her conscience. As she asked, perhaps her brain thought, "I'll just do this to make her feel good." Or maybe she thought, "My supervisor is watching and I got in trouble for not asking last week, so I'd better do it now." Or, unlikely as it may seem, she might have been thinking, "OK, that's a trick I used to do when I was underage - I'd call my liquor so that the bartender would think I was a seasoned drinker and then there'd be NO WAY I'd get carded. This little girl is trying to pull a fast one on me and get me to not card her. I'll show her...."
"Do you have any ID?"
Sadly, I didn't. Sadly for her, she couldn't take it back. She wanted to. But once you ask, you're locked in. And, filled with pride and happiness and the kind of feeling you get when someone askes you if you've lost weight - AND YOU HAVE - I drank a virgin Mary while John drank two Fat Tires.
And Phoebie made my thirty seven and five sixth a day to remember. I doubt it ever happens again.
Yippee!!!!!!
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