I propped my elbows on the bar and nursed my drink and poured out my woes to the bartender.
(At this point my father, if he were reading this, would sigh, “So this is why you marry them off at 19. Why didn’t anyone explain it to us?”)
Okay, that’s not exactly what happened, but wouldn’t that be a great ending to a bad date?
Hasn’t the idea ever occurred to you? It hadn’t to me. Truth is, I never really noticed the bartender much. He is the guy who fills the glasses with drinks, who you thank, and who you then promptly forget. I don’t even always see him, because sometimes I’m seated first and the guy fetches the beverages.
But it now occurs to me that the bartender at the Marriott must see an awful lot of shidduch dating. Moreover, he probably finds it about as exciting as a Quaker sweet sixteen.
I know this because I had the privilege, one dull dating evening, of livening up his night just a tad.
It started when my date asked, “Would you like a drink?”
Okay, so I tend to get hung up on semantics. If he would have said “would you like something to drink” I would have asked for the usual water. But he asked about “a drink” which has slightly alcoholic connotations.
“Like a scotch?” I asked.
We’d known each other for a grand total of 20 minutes. Otherwise he probably would have known enough to just shrug and say, “If you’d like.” Instead, he said, “I won’t call your bluff.”
“You think I’m bluffing?”
“Like I said, I’m not calling your bluff.”
So I turned to the bartender and asked for a beer.
Now, I know this raises many questions that will haunt you and disturb your reading, eating, and sleeping for weeks on end unless I answer them.
So, to address the most important question first: Sam Adams, of course. You don’t seriously think I’d order Miller Lite on a date? Or at all, ever?
Second, if I was permanently x’d out by any Women in Black for this behavior, they haven’t told me about it.
Third, yes, we went out again. (And I had a fruit juice Snapple.)
But anyway, my point was, the bartender raised an eyebrow, turned to my date, and said, “You got a live one.”
Now, I was in the Marriott last night, wearing a suit, for an event down the hall in the back where dates never venture. But I took the time to drop in on the lounge before leaving to smirk at the daters. It is a pretty dead scene. I nearly fell asleep watching.
I glanced in at the bar and sure enough, same bartender there. One day I’m going to interview him for a tell-all about the Marriott dating scene. I’m just afraid it won’t be much of a tell-all. He’ll shrug and say, “They get coke. They sit. They talk.They leave and come back next week with someone else. It’s like watching icicles melt. Oh, wait, actually, there was one time when one of them ordered a beer…”