.jpg)
Michael walked into the bar. It was a small dive bar on the side of the road frequented by working people, mostly in their thirties. There were several tables, but he picked a seat at the bar, choosing a seat without consequence to who he was near. He placed a twenty dollar bill in front of him and as the barmaid flashed him a smile he ordered a bottle of Budweiser.
He noticed the barmaid whispering something to a small group of female patrons and they all looked into his direction.
He had never been to this bar, but it was similar to others that he had visited. There was a jukebox across the room playing a selection of hip-hop. It was not his music of choice so he got up and put five dollars’ worth of his own assortment.
As he walked up to the jukebox, he noticed a couple of the other female patrons cast their eyes upon him. The jukebox had a fine collection of country music and he sorted through to find a grouping of Garth Brooks, George Strait, and Alan Jackson as well as a few of his more pop orientated favorites.
He made his way back to the bar, lit a cigarette, and took a swig of his beer.
He had never been to this bar before and he did not recognize any of the patrons, but he was quick to start up a conversation with the guy sitting next to him at the bar.
His drinking acquaintance took a swig of his beer and pointed to the small group of women who had been gazing at Michael as he had walked in.
His drinking cohort asked rhetorically, “Do you see that tall red-head over there? I’ve been coming into this bar for over six months now and I can’t even get her to talk to me.”
Michael shrugged it off as inconsequential. He knew that this bar wasn’t a place to pick up women even in consideration of the beauty of the tall red-head across the room. This was mostly a place to sit down and have a few beers outside of the confines of his apartment. Solitary drinking can be very depressing which is why Michael often frequented small establishments such as this.
Without so much as casual eye contact, the attractive red-head got up off her seat and walked up to Michael. She was tall, but not too tall. She was very alluring with sultry green as and all of the other assets which draw a man to a woman. Michael had not been planning for a date or for any romantic involvement when he had walked into the bar, but she walked up to him and without a word of foreplay asked him to dance.
The inconsequential meeting between the two led to nowhere. Their discussion was trivial at best and as they held each other close, he shared no interest in her other than shear attraction.
Through their discussion Michael discovered that her name was Rhonda and that she was a secretary in a local law firm. Her mundane banter highlighted her lack of education which was more than apparent. However, she was very beautiful and he thought it might be wise to ignore that fact and let the night lead were it may.
She invited herself over to share a drink with him. It was a casual request. As their conversation continued he was at odds with himself over where he might want this night to lead. She had a thick accent of guttural English.
"I'll have a long island ice-tea," she announced to the bartender as they sat down. It was her understanding that it was a lavish drink reserved for the extravagantly wealthy.
The conversation bit against his nerves. He vowed that he would find an exit to the trite and somewhat painful conversation.
Finally, after more than an hour of conversation with each other, he made his exit. Relatively sober, he told her that he had to be to work early in the morning and that he would see her again. He asked her for her phone number and made his departure.
Upon leaving, he made a pledge to himself that he would never visit that bar again.
