I know I just wrote about drinking alone but you have to trust me when I tell you: I don't really sit at bars by myself. Like ever. But I'm working out of town right now (in Atlanta) and so to avoid being a recluse in my hotel room, I saddled up to the lively bar in my hotel's lobby last night to have dinner and a glass of wine. I was pretending to care about a basketball game and simultaneously reading a magazine when the bartender slid a second glass of pinot noir my way. "This is from the gentleman across the bar. He wanted to welcome you to town," He said. I looked over to see a GIANT African-American fellow in a long, black, leather trench coat. He raised his bourbon to me and smiled. I waved awkwardly and mouthed a thank you. I'm not quite sure what the protocol is in these situations. I wanted him to know I was appreciative but did he expect something? Was I supposed to go talk to him? Or send him something in return? After another twenty minutes I finished my burger and as I stood up to go, I went to simultaneously say another thank you and also goodbye and my combination-gesture short-circuited. What resulted were prayer hands under my chin and an accidental nod. I gave him a Namaste. A freaking Namaste, you guys. I'm pretty sure he felt my soul acknowledge his soul and that resonated with him because he summoned me over with a curly finger.
I hesitantly approached.
"Hey girl." I think he had a pencil mustache. And he was 50 if he was a day.
"Hey! Thanks so much for the wine," I said, "That was really nice. I'm just going upstairs now." I pointed to the elevator and nodded incessantly like a weirdo.
"You should take my number." He put his arm around me and kinda snuggled me into his side. My head came up to his belly button.
"Oh, no thanks. I'm actually married." I tried to gracefully wriggle my way out but he had a good grip going. "Plus, I have an early morning tomorrow. But thanks again!!!" I broke free, ran between his legs and bolted for the elevator.