My Novel Experience with Scotch
As per my usual Friday, I get on the PATH train after work and make my way to my usual pizzeria to order, "a beer for here and a pizza to go." It is, in reality, a very nice restaurant that does make a good pizza. But this Friday, I had a, not uncommon, but familiar rough day at work.
I had to leave late due to dealing with everyone who was still in the office at 5:30 PM EST on a Friday. By the time I reached the PATH train, I missed my line's train and had to wait for the next one; ten minutes later. Now ten minutes may seem like a short time, but all I wanted to do was take part in my usual Friday ritual. Unfortunately, as I entered the next crowded PATH train, I noticed an area of free space around this one guy. So I made my way to the space and soon discovered that this Friday would not be usual in any way.
This free space was surrounding a homeless man; at least I think he is homeless. We will call him Jeff. As soon as Jeff noticed me, he raised his clenched hand and signaled me for a bump. Never to pass on a connection, I reciprocated his gesture and took my place in the train car. Jeff smiled then mentioned that he was going to die... When I asked about specifics, he would not answer. He instead started to grasp my hand and hold the arm of the woman next to me.
At that point, he started to sing Ben E. King's "Stand By Me" in convoluted choruses and mixed up verses. His tone-deafness was not lost on me either. I thought about joining in, but considering that I sing somewhat well and know the lyrics, I decided not to clash. As my station approached, I noticed that Jeff had a bag containing a pair of forest camouflage pants, shirt, boots, and a hand-to-hand combat manual. He then mentioned that he did not want to die. I told him that he was braver than the rest of the train car. He immediately re-clapsed my hand and said, "I love you man." At this point, I knew my suspicion of Jeff's enlisting in the Army was true. I, or course, thanked him but he continued to announce to the rest of the train car, "I love this guy!" The train arrived at my station so I bid farewell to Jeff and continued to the pizzeria.
As I was walking, I tried to wrap my head around what happened; not just with Jeff, but with the dinner in SoHo last night, my 42 hours awake from Monday through Tuesday, and night before my good friend moved far, far away. I was looking forward to relaxing through my Friday ritual and take stock of recent events. I now wish that I remembered back then, "Good things come to those who wait."
Waiting at the bar for one of the super-busy servers to take a second to get my order was interesting. In fact, the flurry of activity was somewhat comical. My usual barkeep was too busy taking care of the second floor so the backup took my order. Considering how my day went, I decided to change it up slightly. I asked him for, "a dram of Glenfiddich 12 year, neat, for here and a small calzone to go." Two minutes elapse. The backup asks, "What was that, I didn't get that?" I reply, "a small calzone to go and a dram of Glenfiddich 12." He enters the calzone and asks again, "And what? You're gonna have to help me with that." Shaking my head, I answer, "See the bottle to the left of the Jameson? That's Glenfiddich 12 year. Please pour two ounces into a rocks glass; straight up." He then nods, goes for the proper bottle, and asks, "You want that with soda or ice?" I sternly reply with, "No. Straight up, please."
I receive my rocks glass, full to the brim of Glenfiddich 12 (8 ounces), laugh, and wonder what he is going to charge me. He stares at the liquor option screen and hits "OPEN" and "8." Eight more dollars get added to the bill. Good man. Considering the size of the portion just given unto me, I decided to write this post and take the picture you see below. Unfortunately, I took the picture after I sipped half the glass away. This is the point where a mid-30s guy walks in, slams down his WFAN Giants sign, announces, "Let's Go Giants!" and orders a Bud Light. This is one of those times when I am both proud and ashamed at exactly the same time.
Thankfully my lack of in-depth American Football knowledge kept me out of the rambling diatribes that this G-Men fan was having with the only other person at the bar. Just then my phone sounds and I am notified of a text message. Curious of who could be intruding my end-of-the-week exercise, I unlock my phone to find my good friend who moved this week, needing an answer to a question. Dutifully I answered her question, explained why that is the answer, and put my phone away.
Before long, my calzone was ready and I finished, with much grace and vigor, my glass of scotch. As I approached the doors, I heard a familiar voice to my starboard. I put the calzone down on a nearby table and scanned right. I unexpectedly saw a coworker and his girlfriend dining only ten feet away. Happily I greeted them, exchanged pleasantries, answered questions, and made a joke before I told them that I had to be on my way.
Completely in awe of this comparatively short night's events, I embarked upon the short walk to my apartment. In the middle of my walk, my phone sounds again. I pulled it from my pocket to see what all the commotion was about. I pleasantly found a message from an old college friend. She told me that she was hanging out with a shared friend and asked how I was. I answered the question, replied to other inquests, and wished her a good night.
So now I sit, quite relaxed;
pondering all the things that have passed.
Wondering if these are just the ramblings
of one man who may only be sampling
the liquids and thoughts of the day passed;
bringing together his mind and spirit at last.
I call this My Novel Experience with Scotch,
even though you may label some ideas as 'botch.'
In the West appears a great and bright shining star,
of which songs and praise are granted from afar.
Zeus, Jupiter, God-of-War is your name
despite that my thoughts are now peaceful and sane.
Wow. Sorry about the deep thinking and poetry. Scotch brings out the weirdest part of me...
My Scotch