As a Manhattanite, it takes some pretty exceptional circumstances to get me to leave my borough. Convincing me to go to Brooklyn is much easier than getting me to haul my ass to Queens. (I used to live there. I’m allowed to say that.) Unluckily for me (and fortunately for my Queens-dwelling friends) there is a bar that I will traverse subway and bridge for, nestled in the heart of Astoria. The drinks are amazing, the patrons are super chill, and I have a gigantic crush on one of the bartenders.
[True story: one night, with the help of a few too many pickletinis, I left him a note in the check presenter on the postcard that accompanied my credit card slip. It read:
Do you like me?
Yes No Maybe
No, he never called me. But that’s ok, I have faith that love will persevere! Oh to be young and dumb again…]
Anyway, one fateful eve when I decided to grace this outer borough with my presence, two friends and I just so happened to stumble into my favorite bar (I can’t possibly imagine who orchestrated that…) We settled on some stools just a stone’s throw away from the bar and hunkered down for some hardcore Friday-nighting.
Within an hour or so, we were approached by two gentlemen. They told us that they had been in the armed forces, one in the Army and one in the Marines. Somehow, against all odds, they became friends (they were like a modern day, wartime The Fox and The Hound). Marine took a likin’ to me and we chatted it up a bit. He ordered himself a drink while we were conversing. Eventually, he needed another.
“Can I buy you one?” he asked.
“Uh… Sure!” I replied.
When our drinks arrived I began sipping mine, but apparently his wasn’t to his satisfaction. He had it remade (3 times).
Eventually he asked me for my phone number. I was hesitant, but (like always) I was trying to break out of my comfort zone and I obliged.
Then, Marine and Army made the fastest exit I have ever witnessed in my entire life.
As some seats had opened at the bar, my friends and I decided to move as to have better access to my friend, the hot bartender. The waitress informed us that it would be best for us to close out with her before moving. She arrived with my tab and imagine my shock when upon it appeared:
1. The drinks I had purchased for myself
2. The drinks Marine had purchased for himself
3. The drink Marine had “bought” me
Apparently he had helped himself to my tab. (He had somehow been convincing enough to the waitress when telling her to which tab the drinks should be applied.)
That is some shady ass shit.
Always Faithful? Not so sure about that.