Backpost: Harry's, and the Airport
4 / 14 / 2007
I get here to the airport and I'm waiting for, like, three hours so I suppose I'll have a beer. It's funny, cause I can remember not liking beer. I remember not being able to afford a beer. I remember people not giving me beer because they thought I looked too young, even though I had a valid fake. And now, I'm two and a half months shy of being able to actually get a beer with my real ID and it's almost like I'm over it. But I'm not.
I have a feeling I'm just starting with all of this. The binge drinking, the drinking alone. Some people see it as a problem. I don't. I think that drinking in social settings to get comfortable, let your hair down and get to know other people is worse than drinking because you enjoy it. Take that last episode with Sam, in which he invited me over to a party with a bunch of his friends, none of which I knew. Maybe it was a test. I'd say I failed if that were the case, but I would have much rather spent the better portion of the night laying in bed at Sophia's watching xtube alone with a nice brew (Red-Tail or Anchor Steam, preferably.)
They knew me down at the liquor store by Sophia's house - Chuck's. Chuck knew me from way back in the day, when I used to buy Snowballs and a Coke and would steal every other day. His sons who work there now know me because I always come in with Sophia, and the eldest always flirts with her as though she were Cleopatra. And the mom just doesn't give a fuck, because she never carded me once, and sold me alcohol the only three times I ever saw her ass. I remember one day running late to stock the bar at Sophia's house for one of our crazy-ass shindigs and providing the entire party with alcohol that she sold to me. Fifths, handles, chasers, mixers, and limes to boot. Stupid bitch. Her husband's empire could crumble for doing something stupid like that. It cost enough, though - she sure made a pretty penny on that one.
The place I'm in now is an airport restaurant. Harry's. I believe their slogan is "upgrade to first class dining at Harry's." Cute, right? Everything inside is mahogany wood and stylized, all modern-class and Boney James.
I walk in and seat myself. There are about eight servers for a place the size of Samovar, and the bench I sit at is pretty much empty. My server is this bitchy black girl with braids, and I immediately know she hates me because before I even order the fucking beer, she cards me. Another server is this uber-gay Chinese Amar. He's got the hair flop and everything. I order the half soup, half sandwich deal with a crab chowder and turkey club. Both are actually pretty good. I over-tipped, to compensate for her shitty attitude.
When I walk out I realize that one of the eight servers is actually a hostess, and she gives me a dirty look, and I immediately know what the poor service was about - I'm a self-seater. I hate self-seaters. I totally put into question her existence at Harry's and she hates me for it. Whoops.
Oh, well. Not my problem.
I get here to the airport and I'm waiting for, like, three hours so I suppose I'll have a beer. It's funny, cause I can remember not liking beer. I remember not being able to afford a beer. I remember people not giving me beer because they thought I looked too young, even though I had a valid fake. And now, I'm two and a half months shy of being able to actually get a beer with my real ID and it's almost like I'm over it. But I'm not.
I have a feeling I'm just starting with all of this. The binge drinking, the drinking alone. Some people see it as a problem. I don't. I think that drinking in social settings to get comfortable, let your hair down and get to know other people is worse than drinking because you enjoy it. Take that last episode with Sam, in which he invited me over to a party with a bunch of his friends, none of which I knew. Maybe it was a test. I'd say I failed if that were the case, but I would have much rather spent the better portion of the night laying in bed at Sophia's watching xtube alone with a nice brew (Red-Tail or Anchor Steam, preferably.)
They knew me down at the liquor store by Sophia's house - Chuck's. Chuck knew me from way back in the day, when I used to buy Snowballs and a Coke and would steal every other day. His sons who work there now know me because I always come in with Sophia, and the eldest always flirts with her as though she were Cleopatra. And the mom just doesn't give a fuck, because she never carded me once, and sold me alcohol the only three times I ever saw her ass. I remember one day running late to stock the bar at Sophia's house for one of our crazy-ass shindigs and providing the entire party with alcohol that she sold to me. Fifths, handles, chasers, mixers, and limes to boot. Stupid bitch. Her husband's empire could crumble for doing something stupid like that. It cost enough, though - she sure made a pretty penny on that one.
The place I'm in now is an airport restaurant. Harry's. I believe their slogan is "upgrade to first class dining at Harry's." Cute, right? Everything inside is mahogany wood and stylized, all modern-class and Boney James.
I walk in and seat myself. There are about eight servers for a place the size of Samovar, and the bench I sit at is pretty much empty. My server is this bitchy black girl with braids, and I immediately know she hates me because before I even order the fucking beer, she cards me. Another server is this uber-gay Chinese Amar. He's got the hair flop and everything. I order the half soup, half sandwich deal with a crab chowder and turkey club. Both are actually pretty good. I over-tipped, to compensate for her shitty attitude.
When I walk out I realize that one of the eight servers is actually a hostess, and she gives me a dirty look, and I immediately know what the poor service was about - I'm a self-seater. I hate self-seaters. I totally put into question her existence at Harry's and she hates me for it. Whoops.
Oh, well. Not my problem.