Bellying Up To The Bar

At the appointed hour, I dry my hair for the first time in weeks, carefully apply makeup, don the outfit of choice and get into my car with the A/C blasting. Humidity is not my friend. No one needs to go on a first date looking like Roseanne Rosannadanna.

I have no idea where I'm going but Siri does, and she guides me to the destination in that tinny little nasally voice of hers. Siri needs a nasal passage ablation.

I find a Miracle Parking Space, on the street, 10 feet from the establishment so my walk up the sooty, hot, humid street is short if not sweet. Maybe the white jeans were a bad idea. Maybe the date was a bad idea. Maybe the whole eHarmony thing was a bad idea.

Must. Not. Think. Those. Thoughts.

I walk into the pub and find a bar stool not far from the door so I can see and be seen.

There are two handsome, talkative young men seated to my left. There is a pair of older gentlemen around the corner of the bar to my right. One has an oxygen tank and nasal prongs and is trying to move his gear out of the way with every sip of Jameson's. His friend is just garden-variety decrepit. A fine crowd.

I order a beer. Jack sends me a text. He's stuck in traffic. I tell him I am at the bar with a beverage and not to worry.

And I wait. And I wait some more. I am trying to be dainty about the beer but I've guzzled more than half. Pretty.

The door swings open with the jingling of bells and I look to see if it is Jack.

It is not. It is two young girls, frazzled from traffic, joining the two young men, and pissed that they are late.

One is less apologetic. Blames the men.

"This isn't the main bar! You said you'd be in the main bar! WE were in the main bar." Her vice is going to sound like my mother's one day. I should tell her date. Run don't walk. This is the threshold of Hell.

The guy argues back, sounding less pissed than I would have. "This looks like a main bar to me. What other bars are there?"

The bartender chimes in, uninvited. "There's the Princeton bar, the Yale bar, the Penn bar...The Penn bar is the biggest. People call that the main bar."

Girlfriend with the grating voice smirks in satisfaction.

"Well you're here now," reasons the much too calm boyfriend. If it were me there would have been bloodshed by now.

But I begin to panic. It's been a while since Jack sent his "stuck in traffic" text. What if I am in the wrong bar? What if he thinks I've left?

I interrupt the two couples. The guys have ordered the girls a couple of medicinal pints for their nerves.

"Excuse me," I say to the guy nearest me. Both of them turn and smile. The girls look a little skeptical. Maybe they should be less bitchy. "I overheard your conversation. I am meeting a complete stranger here in a few minutes. In "the main bar." I am not sure I am in the right place. If I were your sister, what would your advice be?"

In unison the guys both blurt out, "Stay right where you are!"

I must look shocked because the one nearest me goes on the explain. "Don't you dare go traipsing around the place with your beer looking for him." He points to the mirror behind the bar. "Look at you. He'll find you. Trust me."

Kindness from strangers. Always so warming to the soul.

"You want us to stay and be your wing men?" he jokes. Miserable girlfriend with the brainwave-scrambling voice just about chokes.

I thank them and wave them off just as the doorbells ring again and in walks Jack.

The guys smile and move to a table with the girls. Jack sits down.

Not smiling.