|
|
 |
Phil Willis Online |
home bio pics stories links |
|
|
July 27th, 2004Here's a quick "day in the life" story for you.I've just finished playing golf on a Wednesday night and have experienced for the first time (and hopefully not the last) some good ole, suburban, Pennsylvanian, huntin', shootin' and rootin' redneck hospitality. Tom Marks had just dropped me off after golf and I realised ("realized" for the US readers) that I had about fifteen minutes before the next train to downtown Philly arrived. Too short for a beer, just right for a whisky - so I went to the nearest bar in Lansdale for a nightcap, and to change from my golf gear to my "city clothes" (get caught downtown looking like a white golfer from the 'burbs and you've got a whole lotta explaining to do. Better is to dress in black, practice your "skulking" and affect the pose of a sex fiend, drug addict or wino - or even better, a combo of all three.) The last time I shot pool with Tom here, upon entering a buxom bartender with a slight water retention problem announced: "Youse boys are in luck - Wednesday night is LAY-dies night!" This statement coming from technically, the ONLY woman in the bar (although I would also have accepted a doctor's certificate), we then spent the rest of the night watching people enter and exit the women's bathroom, commenting on whether these were the aforementioned LAY-dies or not. Tonight, I was riding solo though. I sat down at the bar and asked for a Jamiesons, neat - no chaser. And before all you whisky afficionados start, let me remind you where I was - a frickin' REDNECK bar in Lansdale, where to order a Laphroaig with water on the side with a twist of lemon would have had me classified on the "LAY-dies" side of the gender ledger. I slapped down a random collection of bills on the bar. Tipping in the United States still confuses me, so the best policy is to bring out whatever is in your wallet, fan the bills in a provocative configuration on the counter, wait for your server to select their cut and after all is said and done - leave an additional two dollars for the tip. The pile of crumpled mixed denomination bills clearly caught the bartender's eye and she (let's call her "Kelly") reacted to the pile with interest. Kelly's first reply was: "Hey handsome! I've served you once before, haven't I?" It could have been her standard schtick, but as I was drinking alone, I took it as a genuine conversational gambit and responded: "Yeah - once. Wow - you've got a great memory!" At this point I should have reconsidered my choice of words. In a smokey bar with country and western music playing in the foreground, I can now understand that "Wow - you've got a great memory!" could have been misheard as "Wow - you've got great mammories!" As if on cue, Kelly yanked down her midriff top, bearing the slogan "Home grown - not silicon" (strange that I didn't notice this earlier) and gave me a good, long look at her ample "home grown" jubblies. For those keeping score at home: * one nipple ring (right breast), * one belly button ring (usual spot). Being completely objective, it's hard to make a snap judgement of a bar in which I spent a total of fifteen minutes on a slow weeknight, but given the fact that within those brief, but eye-opening, minutes I had seen and heard: a) two Creed songs b) the bartender's response to "How you doin?" as "Any better and I'd be naked!" c) one country and western song with the chorus proclaiming: I love this bar! d) five men drinking by themselves (sorry - six, if you include me) e) the bartender's nipples There's only one conclusion: I have been to a redneck bar. And I for one love it! Am I playing golf next Wednesday night? Maybe. Am I turning up to the Lansdale local for LAY-dies night? Absolutlely!! |
www.PhilWillisOnline.com |