Adding more people to the bar was making things worse. The noise seemed to attract the Professor's attention; pulling his focus from me and turning it to the growing crowd. “I say, charming young ladies you have here, really rather charming.” He turned to me for a moment, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. “It seems a shame to have this booth all to ourselves. We should be more generous, share this space with some of these ladies.”
I sought to give him a Serious Look. “Didn't you say you were married?”
“I don't see what that has to do with anything,” he responded. “Besides it looks like you might require some assistance in that regard.”
“I have a girlfriend,” I noted defensively.
“Is she here?”
“No,” I answered.
“Is she likely to be here?” the Professor pushed.
“No.”
He grinned. “Neither is my wife. I'm not saying we're going to pick any of these girls up, not necessarily anyway.” Before I could protest further, he began waving to a pair of young ladies walking nearby that appeared to be looking for a destination. “I say, plenty of room over here if you would care to join us.” After a moment of conferring, they walked over to join us. With a speed that belied the time spent sitting, Professor Smith-Smythe bounded from the booth and to his feet, gesturing grandly towards the seat. He gave me a Look, which encouraged me to rise as well, allowing the Ladies access to the interior of the booth. As we sat back down, we had them trapped.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Of Course It Gets More Complicated
I have no idea why I thought the Professor would only want one drink. I suppose I'd gotten so used to the idea that Professor Smith-Smythe was having such a lousy time that he wouldn't want to linger. We'd have the one, he'd be sick of me and of being in the school, and want to head back to his hotel or whatever.
What I hadn't reckoned on was the power of alcohol to make someone comfortable. I also hadn't reckoned on the Professor's ability to inhale gin. I mean, he clearly had some practice at this task. I very quickly became glad the man had his own money and was interested in paying for his own drinks. I picked up every third drink or so, when I was refreshing my own beverage, and this made me the best chap in the whole of ever. Or something.
While he must have been rather drunk, he remained impressively coherent. This was handy as he became rather chatty. He discoursed on his own facility, the price of gas in Birmingham, the problems he'd had with his wife, how rotten his son is, as well as his belief in the existence of the French. It was a fascinating set of diatribes that I wish I could do justice to here but the beer fades the details.
I lost track of time. People came and went. Suddenly I looked up and it was Happy Hour. When I realized this, I sobered up quickly from fear.
I don't do Happy Hour, not anymore anyway. Happy Hour generally becomes Stumbly Fall-Down Time and that's not very Happy. Not to me anyway. I snapped to attention, did some math, and realized I was in trouble. The place was filling up, the Professor was showing no signs of wanting to depart, and the booze was getting less expensive. I would have to act fast to avoid further trouble.
I tried to make a display of stretching and then finished the last of my beer. “Well, it's getting late sir. Is there somewhere you need to be?”
My 'subtle' attempt to steer him to other tasks failed miserably as the Professor was focused on the waitress that had just pulled up to our table. Over the increasing din I could hear him mutter “Oh I say” in a far too appreciative tone. In all fairness to him, this young lady was rather pleasant looking so it made sense to admire her, only it seemed creepy for him to do so, what with him being married and old enough to be her father and such.
While the Professor may not have heard me, she had done so. “Oh, time to go?” she asked with a polite smile.
“What? Leave?” The concept seemed foreign to the Professor. “Who said such a thing? Him? Man drivels, pay him no attention. Another round my dear.” He keenly observed her departure. Grinning at me, he noted “Wonderful place you've got here.”
I felt very tired.
What I hadn't reckoned on was the power of alcohol to make someone comfortable. I also hadn't reckoned on the Professor's ability to inhale gin. I mean, he clearly had some practice at this task. I very quickly became glad the man had his own money and was interested in paying for his own drinks. I picked up every third drink or so, when I was refreshing my own beverage, and this made me the best chap in the whole of ever. Or something.
While he must have been rather drunk, he remained impressively coherent. This was handy as he became rather chatty. He discoursed on his own facility, the price of gas in Birmingham, the problems he'd had with his wife, how rotten his son is, as well as his belief in the existence of the French. It was a fascinating set of diatribes that I wish I could do justice to here but the beer fades the details.
I lost track of time. People came and went. Suddenly I looked up and it was Happy Hour. When I realized this, I sobered up quickly from fear.
I don't do Happy Hour, not anymore anyway. Happy Hour generally becomes Stumbly Fall-Down Time and that's not very Happy. Not to me anyway. I snapped to attention, did some math, and realized I was in trouble. The place was filling up, the Professor was showing no signs of wanting to depart, and the booze was getting less expensive. I would have to act fast to avoid further trouble.
I tried to make a display of stretching and then finished the last of my beer. “Well, it's getting late sir. Is there somewhere you need to be?”
My 'subtle' attempt to steer him to other tasks failed miserably as the Professor was focused on the waitress that had just pulled up to our table. Over the increasing din I could hear him mutter “Oh I say” in a far too appreciative tone. In all fairness to him, this young lady was rather pleasant looking so it made sense to admire her, only it seemed creepy for him to do so, what with him being married and old enough to be her father and such.
While the Professor may not have heard me, she had done so. “Oh, time to go?” she asked with a polite smile.
“What? Leave?” The concept seemed foreign to the Professor. “Who said such a thing? Him? Man drivels, pay him no attention. Another round my dear.” He keenly observed her departure. Grinning at me, he noted “Wonderful place you've got here.”
I felt very tired.
Monday, October 4, 2010
This Should Be No Big Deal
The campus bar is not large. It's not really meant for large groups of people. It's handy, convenient, but there are so many bars in Milwaukee that there's no need for it to be really large. It goes well with the four lane bowling alley next to it.
Mid-week, mid-afternoon, mid-summer all combined to equal a mostly empty bar. Thankfully it was open as I had said. After I said it would be, it occurred to me that it often closes down during summer for remodeling and cleaning. While business gets slack during this time, it never goes away. Once Professor Smith-Smythe caught sight of the bar, his pace increased. He sped past me, making a bee line for a booth in the back. I gave a smile and wave to Big Ken the bartender who was in the midst of cleaning glasses. He nodded a response and met us at the table. “What can I do for you gentlemen today?”
“Gin and tonic,” the Professor responded. “You needn't be too liberal with the tonic.” He then winked rather obviously.
If this request seemed unusual to Big Ken, he didn't show it. He nodded to acknowledge it and turned to me. “Root beer,” I requested.
The Professor reacted rather energetically to this, forcing Ken to wait. “No, wait, I say, 'root beer'?” He repeated this a few more times, which made me wonder for a moment if he'd never heard of it before. “Dash it, you're not saying you're going to make me drink alone are you?”
“I'll be right here, you won't be alone.” Before he could argue my admittedly pedantic response, I added “I'm not allowed to drink while I'm at work.”
“What the deuce is the point of having an establishment such as this so convenient if you can't have a drink or two during lunch?” He sulked. “I can't drink alone, it's just not done.” A thought occurred to him and he perked up. “Say, you're supposed to be showing me around, right?” I confirmed this was the case. “And this is the end of the tour, yes?” More or less, he was correct. “If that's the case you're done with your work for the day, aren't you?” Triumphant, he turned to Big Ken. “Beer for him.” Being a good man, Big Ken waited for me to confirm this was acceptable before he returned to the bar. I was not fond of the idea, but this was the best mood I'd seen the Professor in and it didn't seem wise to break it. Besides, Cuthbold wants the Professor to have a good time, to go away with a favorable impression of the school, so, in a way, I'm just following orders. It'll just be the one.
One drink never hurt anyone.
Mid-week, mid-afternoon, mid-summer all combined to equal a mostly empty bar. Thankfully it was open as I had said. After I said it would be, it occurred to me that it often closes down during summer for remodeling and cleaning. While business gets slack during this time, it never goes away. Once Professor Smith-Smythe caught sight of the bar, his pace increased. He sped past me, making a bee line for a booth in the back. I gave a smile and wave to Big Ken the bartender who was in the midst of cleaning glasses. He nodded a response and met us at the table. “What can I do for you gentlemen today?”
“Gin and tonic,” the Professor responded. “You needn't be too liberal with the tonic.” He then winked rather obviously.
If this request seemed unusual to Big Ken, he didn't show it. He nodded to acknowledge it and turned to me. “Root beer,” I requested.
The Professor reacted rather energetically to this, forcing Ken to wait. “No, wait, I say, 'root beer'?” He repeated this a few more times, which made me wonder for a moment if he'd never heard of it before. “Dash it, you're not saying you're going to make me drink alone are you?”
“I'll be right here, you won't be alone.” Before he could argue my admittedly pedantic response, I added “I'm not allowed to drink while I'm at work.”
“What the deuce is the point of having an establishment such as this so convenient if you can't have a drink or two during lunch?” He sulked. “I can't drink alone, it's just not done.” A thought occurred to him and he perked up. “Say, you're supposed to be showing me around, right?” I confirmed this was the case. “And this is the end of the tour, yes?” More or less, he was correct. “If that's the case you're done with your work for the day, aren't you?” Triumphant, he turned to Big Ken. “Beer for him.” Being a good man, Big Ken waited for me to confirm this was acceptable before he returned to the bar. I was not fond of the idea, but this was the best mood I'd seen the Professor in and it didn't seem wise to break it. Besides, Cuthbold wants the Professor to have a good time, to go away with a favorable impression of the school, so, in a way, I'm just following orders. It'll just be the one.
One drink never hurt anyone.
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