Monday, May 16, 2005

My Coat Tale 

The other day I followed some friends over to a bar in Brooklyn that I hadn't been in since December. The bartender recognized me immediately.

"Hey, you're the Jameson's guy," she said.

"Uhm, might be. Depends. What did he do?" I said. Fuck did I get thrown out of here?

"You were fantastic. We talked about you for a week afterwards. When you took over DJing and then..."

She rehearsed a list of activities. I did not remember any of them. At some point there was mention of group trips to the bathroom, smokes, pills, powders, a broken mirror, locking the doors, drinking past dawn. At least when she was done talking she was still smiling.

"Hey, did you know you left your coat here? Look." She pointed to a long, black coat that I used to own. Until I saw it attached to the ceiling of the bar, I was pretty sure I still owned it. I don't remember losing it. I somehow made it through the winter without missing it.

"Uhm, how'd it get there?"

"Oh, well, we saved it for you for a couple of weeks, but when you didn't come back, one of the other bartenders decided we should memorize the night by making your coat part of the bar," she said. "I guess I can take it down if you want it."

"No. That's okay." I said. "I'll just have a Jameson's on the rocks, thanks."

[Inspired by Isabella's coat tale.]