Thursday watch the walls instead
I don't care if Monday's blue — because I can sleep until 10:00 if I want to.
Thursday is the new Friday for me. It's the end of my official work week. Now, mind you, a teacher always always has something to mark, plus I edit textbooks, I'm writing a PhD thesis...I walk dogs, and I have this blog thing, not to mention two novels that I might, just might, finish before I'm 60 — so I'm always working, in one sense or another.
Even when I'm singing 99 Luftballons (in German) at a karaoke bar.
But on Thursdays I'm done, for the week, with having to be in a particular place at a particular time, that is, standing in front of a classroom doing standup. I mean, teaching marketing. I have classes from 5:00 - 10:00 p.m. You may not think that's a long work day, five hours, and if your day involves mostly sitting at a desk, you'd be right. But if you're a theatre actor, or stand-up comedian, or flight attendant, or, oh; Howard Stern, or Regis Philbin, you'll understand. It's tough to be "on" for five hours.
My friends all think that because my work day ends late at night I should want to go straight home and go to sleep — but is that what you want to do when you're finished your work day at 6:00? You probably get up at 7:00 in the morning. I get up at 10:00, sometimes 11:00. When my work day is over, I want to have something to eat and, yeah, a beer. Nothing tastes as good as a beer after you've been talking for five hours, lemme tell you.
Sid understands, because he's a bartender. He's on his feet and talking for more than five hours. And he's there, at The Banknote, waiting to put a Beck's in front of me tonight.
Sid has always been the Thursday night bartender at The Banknote, even when Andrew was here. I told you once.
I've started to come here on Thursdays after my class, because the kitchen is open late, and because no beer tastes quite so good as the one you have after you've been talking for five hours.
But Sid is still Sid.
"Are you hungry?"
"So I could eat the menu."
"What do you feel like?"
"I feel like I've been talking for five hours, but I'm thinking, quesadilla."
"No, no; no quesadilla."
"What, you're out of quesadillas? There was a run on guacamole today?"
"How about nachos? Have the nachos."
"I'd need six other people to help me eat them."
"Have a steak then. The steak is good. I'll make you a good deal."
"Sid, how long have I been coming here? Have I ever ordered the steak? Besides, I said I was so hungry I could eat the menu, not I could eat a horse."
"Have the nachos then."
"Are you going to help me eat them?"
Sid has a way of not answering the question you asked; at least not right away. You have to learn to leave auditory breadcrumbs.
"Go ask the guys if they'll make you a small nachos."
He drags me to the kitchen counter. Well, it's just behind the bar, where I'm sitting.
"I'd rather ask them why I can't have quesadillas."
He asks them if they'll make me a small nachos. They tell him that's no problem, but then explain that they'll have to charge me the same as a regular nachos. A plate of nachos at The Banknote is meant as a meal for two very, very hungry people, at the very least. It would take six to make it work as an appetizer.
Sid tells them to make it.
Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to argue with Sid.
"You'd better help me eat them when they get here," I threaten, though not very threateningly.
Penny, tonight's Murphy Brown waitress, puts a hamburger and a bowl of soup down in front of Sid.
"No, I'm having a hamburger. You want some soup?"
"Sid, I'm having nachos for twelve in a couple of minutes, remember?"
"Have the soup, it's good."
"Why aren't you eating it, then?"
"Here," he gives the soup to Penny, "Give her the soup."
"What are you, my grandmother?" I ask. Then, to Penny, "I don't want the soup."
"You eat the soup, then," says Sid to Penny.
Penny's boyfriend is also sitting at the bar. She offers the soup to him. He doesn't want it either.
"Charlie!" calls Sid, to Charlie, one of the regulars, who is sitting at the other side of the bar, "You want some soup?"
"What?"
"Go take him the soup," Sid orders Penny.
Before the soup incident, Penny and her boyfriend had been discussing a movie. Now that Penny's on the other side of the bar, delivering soup to Charlie, Penny's boyfriend asks Sid, "Have you seen Wedding Crashers?"
"No."
"It's really funny. You should rent it."
"I'll rent it for my dog," says Sid.
Anyone who's been at The Banknote on a Sid night knows about Sid's dog, the way we all knew about Andrew's baby. Her name is Sage. Sid keeps a picture of her behind the bar. An 8x10 glossy.
"She'll howl."
* * *
Next, Postmodern Sass tells the story of how she beat up Mario Silva in grade eight. And next week at The Banknote, she sees Darryl Sittler.
Thursday is the new Friday for me. It's the end of my official work week. Now, mind you, a teacher always always has something to mark, plus I edit textbooks, I'm writing a PhD thesis...I walk dogs, and I have this blog thing, not to mention two novels that I might, just might, finish before I'm 60 — so I'm always working, in one sense or another.
Even when I'm singing 99 Luftballons (in German) at a karaoke bar.
But on Thursdays I'm done, for the week, with having to be in a particular place at a particular time, that is, standing in front of a classroom doing standup. I mean, teaching marketing. I have classes from 5:00 - 10:00 p.m. You may not think that's a long work day, five hours, and if your day involves mostly sitting at a desk, you'd be right. But if you're a theatre actor, or stand-up comedian, or flight attendant, or, oh; Howard Stern, or Regis Philbin, you'll understand. It's tough to be "on" for five hours.
My friends all think that because my work day ends late at night I should want to go straight home and go to sleep — but is that what you want to do when you're finished your work day at 6:00? You probably get up at 7:00 in the morning. I get up at 10:00, sometimes 11:00. When my work day is over, I want to have something to eat and, yeah, a beer. Nothing tastes as good as a beer after you've been talking for five hours, lemme tell you.
Sid understands, because he's a bartender. He's on his feet and talking for more than five hours. And he's there, at The Banknote, waiting to put a Beck's in front of me tonight.
Sid has always been the Thursday night bartender at The Banknote, even when Andrew was here. I told you once.
I've started to come here on Thursdays after my class, because the kitchen is open late, and because no beer tastes quite so good as the one you have after you've been talking for five hours.
But Sid is still Sid.
"Are you hungry?"
"So I could eat the menu."
"What do you feel like?"
"I feel like I've been talking for five hours, but I'm thinking, quesadilla."
"No, no; no quesadilla."
"What, you're out of quesadillas? There was a run on guacamole today?"
"How about nachos? Have the nachos."
"I'd need six other people to help me eat them."
"Have a steak then. The steak is good. I'll make you a good deal."
"Sid, how long have I been coming here? Have I ever ordered the steak? Besides, I said I was so hungry I could eat the menu, not I could eat a horse."
"Have the nachos then."
"Are you going to help me eat them?"
Sid has a way of not answering the question you asked; at least not right away. You have to learn to leave auditory breadcrumbs.
"Go ask the guys if they'll make you a small nachos."
He drags me to the kitchen counter. Well, it's just behind the bar, where I'm sitting.
"I'd rather ask them why I can't have quesadillas."
He asks them if they'll make me a small nachos. They tell him that's no problem, but then explain that they'll have to charge me the same as a regular nachos. A plate of nachos at The Banknote is meant as a meal for two very, very hungry people, at the very least. It would take six to make it work as an appetizer.
Sid tells them to make it.
Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to argue with Sid.
"You'd better help me eat them when they get here," I threaten, though not very threateningly.
Penny, tonight's Murphy Brown waitress, puts a hamburger and a bowl of soup down in front of Sid.
"No, I'm having a hamburger. You want some soup?"
"Sid, I'm having nachos for twelve in a couple of minutes, remember?"
"Have the soup, it's good."
"Why aren't you eating it, then?"
"Here," he gives the soup to Penny, "Give her the soup."
"What are you, my grandmother?" I ask. Then, to Penny, "I don't want the soup."
"You eat the soup, then," says Sid to Penny.
Penny's boyfriend is also sitting at the bar. She offers the soup to him. He doesn't want it either.
"Charlie!" calls Sid, to Charlie, one of the regulars, who is sitting at the other side of the bar, "You want some soup?"
"What?"
"Go take him the soup," Sid orders Penny.
Before the soup incident, Penny and her boyfriend had been discussing a movie. Now that Penny's on the other side of the bar, delivering soup to Charlie, Penny's boyfriend asks Sid, "Have you seen Wedding Crashers?"
"No."
"It's really funny. You should rent it."
"I'll rent it for my dog," says Sid.
Anyone who's been at The Banknote on a Sid night knows about Sid's dog, the way we all knew about Andrew's baby. Her name is Sage. Sid keeps a picture of her behind the bar. An 8x10 glossy.
"She'll howl."
Next, Postmodern Sass tells the story of how she beat up Mario Silva in grade eight. And next week at The Banknote, she sees Darryl Sittler.
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