Diff'rent Strokes....

A guy walks into a bar. It's Henry, actually, and I'm with him. It's Friday, it's colder than a witch's, um, broom, and there's no good reason to be doing anything other than sitting at home under a pile of blankets. But it's Friday, and this bar is the kind of place where they remember you even if you've only been there a few times, and before you've even made a dent in your layers of outerwear they've started making you a drink.

Friday evening in a bar is like a DMZ between weekday and weekend. This one isn't my usual neighborhood haunt, so I can make up my own stories to attach to the anonymous faces. Not that I really know the truth about anyone's story, even the folks I see all the time, but in somebody else's "local," I get to start from scratch.

It was crowded, but I was happy to just watch and imagine. The bartender let us know who was just waiting for a take out order so we could stake our claim to the next open stools. I hovered next to an odd looking guy who immediately mentioned how cold it was outside. I smiled politely in agreement, though I did note it was winter. He mentioned the cold a few more times and I agreed a few more times. His pizza arrived and I told him to stay warm. He reminded me again how cold it is, and I smiled and took his seat.

The owner told me they call that guy "the weatherman." Go figure. Henry wanted to know if they have nicknames for everyone. "Only the annoying ones," he told us. I thought about all the nicknames I've acquired over the years, and I felt a little uneasy. Some people are so annoying, though, he told us, they don't deserve nicknames. That's when he told us about Hazel, which is not her real name but not a nickname either.

He printed out a copy of Hazel's last receipt for us. It was about 18 inches long. Veggie Panini. Price: $0.00. Hazel had complained about something, which she usually does, and her veggie panini was on the house. Which I suppose made sense anyway, because here were the "specs" (with capitalization and punctuation as they actually appear);
NO cup marinara sauce,
NO spinach,
NO tomato,
NO carrots,
NO onions,
NO zucchini,
NO basil,
NO olive oil,
NO salt!!!,
No pepper,
No seasoning,
No oil or basil on bread,
No salt no pepper no seasoning,
Extra peppers,
NO SIDE,
No mushrooms,
Do Not Cut,
Red Yellow Peppers,
Fresh bread,
Don't cut,
Don't overcook.

A vegetarian nothing burger. As far as I could tell, peppers on bread, but no pepper. Supposedly Mr.

Hazel is nice, so his order must have been the next item. Basil Chicken Panini. $8.25. They should pay him, just to keep her home. Maybe the smiling and benevolent Mr. Hazel knows something about Hazel that the rest of us don't see, cannot even imagine. Anyway, who am I to judge? Given the choice between Hazel's pepper sandwich with no pepper and the jar of "pickled pigs lips" I saw on a shelf in New Orleans the other day, I'm with Hazel.

Every bar needs a Hazel and a weatherman and a bunch of people like me and Henry who are just transitioning over from day to evening or from weekday to weekend. And every person should have a place or two to walk into, especially on a cold Friday night in January.