As to the post title: just sayin. Frees up the circulation (and the junk, tbh).
Today's visit to Jack's came after a quick trip to OSH for more garden plants. The trip to the bar was itself brief but fortuitous.
Brieef because I still had planting to do in the yard (the tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, potatoes, garlic and onions won't just plant themselves—though the local raccoon population will eat all of these vegetables anytime, planted or not) and not much time after that to shower up and receive Wendee at my abode for food and Sharks playoff hockey.
Fortuitous because Tall Nicole was present in a halter top that exposed the full majesty of the winged tattoo on her back. You might have seen her tattoo on the artwork in the bar, but to see it in color is a whole other experience entirely.
I imagine if Tanisha and Tall Nicole worked in tandem with back tattoos exposed, it'd be a lot like walking into a gas station and winning $500 bucks on a scratcher, which is to say one's timing would have been just right.
Old School Doug was in attendance, though not in his usual spot under Flat Screen #1 because a couple were on the short side of the bar, drinking and enjoying themselves (I've noticed that spot seems to attract couples on the weekend and during happy hour).
Doug took up the first seat where the bar turns the corner and makes its way up the length of the place. He had a bright shirt on—it wasn't exactly pink, nor was it orange. More of an indeterminate 7-Eleven slurpy color, like when you mix flavors and end up with a hue that violates the laws of physics with regard to the color spectrum (like they do at Adobe all day long).
To Doug's right sat a man in biker-ish leathers, his long straight beard a shade of dirty gray. To Gray Beard's right sat a woman in a purple/blue top and short denim skirt. To her right sat yours truly in a less than memorable outfit consisting of old blue jeans, dirty sneakers, gray S&S Drywall t-shirt, with my hands still dirty brown from digging in the earth earlier today (planting flowers is fun) and sporting a cowboy hat. That hat sure looked good on Tall Nicole too.
About three seats over to my right a short man stood at the bar, one hand on his bear and his head tipped up to watch Spanish national soccer (Valencia and ???).
The sun shined bright through the entrance to the bar and Nicole greeted me with that fantastic smile of hers. I said hello to Doug and shook his hand while trying to figure out just what goddamned color name I should assign to his shirt.
As I sat down at the bar with a bag full of Der Wienerschnitzel chili cheese dogs, I caught sight of Tall Nicole's eye shadow. It was a dual shade of what looked like lavender and orange, one shade on the eyes and the other filling in the space beneath her eyebrows.
Earlier when I was picking my food up at DW, I saw book clamp dude again and actually stood in line with him this time. I stood behind him and that's where I noticed he had a black cap on with the word "native" stitched into the back of it in white. Though the sun was bright in the sky and it was a little warm out despite the breeze blowing in, he wore his usual blue winter jacket and a few layers of black shirt and sweater underneath. He had a book in hand with that pair of orange clips attached to it to keep the pages in place. In his other hand he carried his just-bought from DW coffee. I watched as he sat down at one of the concrete-like tables and began to read while I waited for my order.
The topics of conversation, like the number of people at the bar, were not that many. What was heard and who was met that were of interest to me follows:
- Tall Nicole spent four years working at Straights in Santana Row. For about two years she was the only female bartender there. After that (or during?) she worked at the Cardiff in Campbell. I'd sort of assumed she had less experience then that, which only goes to show I need to assume less and instead listen and ask questions a whole lot more.
- I overheard talk from some industry people* about customers for whom the gratuity was automatically added to their checks the other night, but also left cash tips on top of the auto-gratuity because they were all of them in a rush to exit and make their way to the Shark Tank to see the Eagles concert.
- If you date a man from Pennsylvania, be prepared for your guy to say things out of the blue in a monotone way such that you can't exactly tell if he's asking you a question or if he's saying he's about to go do something. For example: "going to the bathroom" or "going outside" ...absent the necessary tone of voice (like the verbal equivalent of punctuation) you can't tell if that was a question or a statement of intent.
- Denim Skirt Woman is a traveling nurse. If you know anything about me, Dear Reader, then you know I lived with two women who attended San Jose State's nursing program. These woman often talked about being a traveling nurse and seeing the country. Denim Skirt Woman is living that dream, and let me tell you sometimes it's a nightmare. It should be noted DSW is already well traveled, having grown up in Florida and moved to Pennsylvania after graduation. She spoke of the dichotomy traveling nurses like her experience: DSW has worked the trenches and paid her dues on long night shifts spent in Med Surge and Peds, and by her account she knows her stuff, yet she won't receive prime assignments commensurate with her skill level because the nursing supervisors and doctors at her new assignment location don't know her well enough to trust her. She fears her skills will atrophy as a result.
(In case you didn't know: Nurse Practitioners are filling the void left by the shortage of doctors and in many cases are perceived as the Doctor when seen by patients.)
DSW told me that this change will come to pass, but the prerequisites to become a NP will change from Master's Degree to Doctorate.
Shoot, if you have a Doctorate then I suppose you ought to be called "Doctor", right?
Tall Nicole joined in on the conversation after that and we spoke about how getting hired in exclusive jobs that are low head count (that is, not many people do the job, but the job itself is a necessary/in demand field of work) is often a matter of one part knowing the right people and one part just being plain lucky.
I resemble that remark, inasmuch as the opportunity to work as a contract employee for Google at Stanford is concerned. And I wonder, Dear Reader, how you landed your last job? Was it all personal effort? Or was some amount of luck and networking involved?
Two beers and two chili cheese dogs finished off, so it was time for me to go home. I thanked DSW for the pleasure of meeting her, said goodbye to Old School Doug (and explained to him where I got my S&S t-shirt; we chatted a bit about Portuguese drywallers in the Bay Area as a result) and thanked Tall Nicole for her excellent service.
As I left I hoped DSW would choose to dump her boyfriend and move on to greener pastures. It also occurred to me that Tall Nicole's selection of music played at the bar is always awesome.
Lastly, I thought to myself for not the first time this weekend that the men of the world (or at least the greater San Jose area) are failing. Every day this weekend at least one woman made mention to me of the men in their lives and how these guys behave in a consistently lame manner (and that's putting it nicely) towards them.
These guys will say things like, "Oh, sorry, I go for women who work out more". They will encourage their girlfriends to meet them somewhere (at the movies or at Jack's) then stand them up and only bother to text (and not even call!) with some lame, last-minute excuse like "Oh, I think I need my space" (read: "I'm drinking with guy friends and want to watch the Shark's game with them and not you"). Sometimes they don't even bother to make contact until well after the time they were supposed to meet up.**
Extremely Fucking Lame!
Relationships aren't easy, obviously, and women can be just as difficult as guys sometimes. But come the fuck on. Really, men have it too easy and get away with too much.
I've visited Jack's bar enough times to say with confidence that the woman who frequent the bar are all of them superior in every way. They're intelligent, educated, strong, sassy, thoughtful, warm hearted and strikingly beautiful women (and for the most part out of my league).
But that doesn't mean other guys don't have a chance. These awesome women deserve better, fellas. Much, much better. So get to it, or I'll have Thunder aka Thunder fuck you in the ass.
See you Monday at Jack's, Dear Reader. Guard your backside until then. ;)
*You've probably noticed, Dear Reader, that I use the term "Industry People". This term, when used in the blog (or overheard at the bar), refers to people who are bartenders, barbacks, servers, waitresses, bus people, cooks and owners. If you ever hear a place has an Industry Night, that means drinks are discounted (say half-off) for people who work in the industry. Good bet you'll meet some interesting people at such a places on such nights too. I sure have at Jack's.
** Full disclosure: I too have pulled this shit in the past. Doesn't make me a hypocrite for pointing out this failing in others.