May 6, 2006

Off To The Races

The morning after dinner at Little Village, Walter, Kim, and I dragged our sorry asses out of bed and stumbled from our hotel room to the first sports bar we could find. We arrived at Kelly O’Tooles, and had just enough time to place our orders and our bets before the 11:30 start of the Kentucky Derby. Screwdrivers and Guinness provided the hair of the dog and Fish and Chips and Steak and Guinness Pie gave us the grease to nurse our hangovers as Barbaro raced into horsey history. Kim passed her $20 to Walter and I smugly reminded him that we share a checking account.

After the race, poor Walter went off to spend a few hours in the office while Kim and I took off for the pool. Upon our arrival we discovered that the shadiest place to sit, surprisingly, was the bar. A seven hundred year old bartender with a Virginia Slim stuck to her lips and an attitude that let you know she shat bigger than you reluctantly poured our drinks. As the afternoon wore on, the bar proved an excellent place to chat about upcoming travel, study for my history final, and watch the bartender pretend not to hear people as they came to the end of the bar where she was not currently standing and try to order a drink. Just as we thought we had won her over, Kim asked for a bag of potato chips and the bartender responded by putting the entire rack of chips in the cupboard and locking the door. Right about then a man approached the bar and asked what time it closed. Pointing to a sign with the same information, the bartender replied, “We close at 5. Last call is 4:30.” She then immediately began breaking down the bar. It was 4. She continued to close down the bar until every last item had been wiped up, put away, and locked in. When she was finished at 4:15, she turned with a glare that simply dared us to order more drinks. We have never been ones to shirk away from a dare.

At 4:20, I casually mentioned that we hadn’t bothered to let Walter know where we had gone. With the words “If he can’t guess that we went to the pool bar, he doesn’t know us nearly as well as he should” still hanging in the air, Walter arrived. Lighting another Virginia Slim and sighing with irritation, the bartender allowed him to place an order for last call. Walter was on a winning streak.