A man walked into a bar, in this case that man was me and the bar was Kennedy’s on West 57th street. Don’t worry, it gets better. I’m killing time before I meet up with my wife who is doing yoga, so I head for Happy Hour. The bar at Kennedy’s is pretty much full, except for two spots near the front which appear to be free, but I wait for the bartender to take away the drinks before it’s official.
So I sit there with ESPN on in front of me and my hand dandy Samsung Galaxy 3 phone equipped with Amazon Kindle, which is equipped with the Steve Jobs book that I’ve been struggling through. I take it out and begin reading, not really minding anyone nearby. I do notice the older woman sitting next to me, drinking white wine and really pining for the bartender to give her that full undivided attention that she feels she so richly deserves. She also keeps looking around, and I know this from my many years of sitting alone at bars: people who are looking around are usually also looking for someone to pour their hearts out to. I’m really hoping it’s not me, but I have a feeling if I have more than 2 beers it will be.
“Ya know what I think, I think men have their (genitals) on the outside because otherwise they’d never find them.”
Hmmm. Okay. That was a (richard) joke out of left field, not really a good one or even accurate (are men really the gender associated with not being able to find things?), but she put it out there and I’m the one who heard it. Clearly she’s setting a tone for the evening.
A few minutes later, this woman to my left is engaging the woman to my right, talking shop about her career when she blurts out this fine gem:
“You know, a lot of my friends keep saying I should try stand-up comedy.”
Woah. May-day, May-day, you should so NOT be trying stand-up comedy and if you have people telling you that you SHOULD be, you need to find new people to hang out with who will not tell you that.
“Cuz you know, everything today is with the sh*t and the f@ck and who did I f@ck and oh my (kitty cat) is this and that, it’s such filth. You know men, they all travel together and just throw their (genitals) on the bar and hope for the best. But not you (taps me on the arm), you’re fine.”
Well.. we’re clearly off and running now. Didn’t expect any of that, and now of course via the arm tap I have been not so subtly invited into this conversation.
“No, I know I’m fine, just here reading my book. But thanks for asking.”
“Oh I’m sorry to disturb you, you seem very nice. Did I mention the sh*t and the f@ck and oh my (kitty cat)?”
“I believe you did but I can’t verify that because I’m almost at the chapter before the chapter that leads to the chapter where Steve Jobs is thinking about inventing the iPhone.”
“Well you know I’m from the school of Lenny Bruce and Henny Youngman.”
“So you’re dead?” (I didn’t say that).
“And you know, I’m 70 years old….”
“You look good for 70.”
“Well, I’m not a bitch.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” (didn’t say that either)
“And I used to (type of bird/rhymes with follow). It’s good for you, all that protein, it’s like 2 glasses of wine.”
“Oh, pardon me ma’am, let me help you out, there’s my vomit all over your face.”
So the conversation continues, and then the elderly version of Sarah Silverman calls her other friends over to discuss Anthony Weiner and the trials and tribulations of having inadequately sized Semitic genitalia. The chatter continues:
“Let me tell you about Anthony Weiner. Who gives a shit if he was texting people his (weiner)? Does Huma really care that he’s sending pictures of his (schmeckle) to other women? was he not breast feed? gimme a break. Let me tell you about how men operate, they’re so confused. They think the (Christian LITerature) is an elevator button. They press it and wanna know if you’re there yet.”
Well ladies and gentlemen, on second thought, it looks like we have an opener. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses.