It’s all fun and games until it isn’t

It was a slow night, but not dreadfully so. In the bar business, you have your waves, and then you have your eddies. It’s like the waxing and the waning of the moon, only that the moon doesn’t want to talk to you.

And just like the phases of the moon, some people can be predictable. The person who you say “Just a minute” to will then rapidly ask you 10 questions. And the person who was so ready when you weren’t will be completely unprepared when you are.

Charles Bukowski certainly had his thoughts on people.

But Bukowski was a bar customer, not a bartender. And we bartenders feel exactly the opposite. For everyone who likes to quote Bukowski, especially to a bartender who also writes, I suggest that they read about what Bukowski had to say about women and then consider quoting that source.

The two women in front of me were fairly gussied up. In olden days, people dressed for dinner, but it’s much rarer to see that now. If someone is dressed for dinner, it usually means they have plans for after dinner or even before.

Since it was slow, I had time to engage in that part of tending bar that isn’t mixology. I struck up a conversation. And while Oscar Wilde famously said that men and women can’t be friends, it would be wise to consider who Wilde was and why he said that.

The three of us made chitchat for a while.

“What are you up to tonight?” “That sounds interesting. Are you from around here?” — all the usual small talk.

But then we got around to flirting — harmless, friendly flirting. We were all in the same age bracket, so the same cultural references landed, the same musical artists were noted and the same jokes registered.

It was all good harmless fun. They had on wedding rings. I had on a wedding ring. We all knew where we stood, and we could have fun with it. Bartenders are expected to engage with everybody, which is a completely different thing than being approached by a complete stranger.

Over the next year or so I saw the two women several times. They were on their way to the concert; they were on their way to the theater; or they were just out for a hike. The only difference in all the interactions was the attire —  not mine, of course, uniforms being what they are, but theirs.

But it was always good harmless fun.

When one reaches a certain age in life, one usually takes things a little bit less seriously. And that makes formerly awkward situations less awkward. However, also when one reaches a certain age, there are some things that you do have to take a little more seriously. And when one reaches a very particular age, one must take tests to see just how seriously, which is somewhat ironic considering what that test actually entails.

My doctor was funny, which certainly helped. I think he even asked me if I was “anal retentive.” He laughed; I laughed. It was all good fun surrounding a relatively unfun procedure.

I dutifully made my appointments and went through all the steps. They recommended a driver, and my wife supportively tagged along.

“Jeff,” the nurse announced to the waiting room using my full name.

She looked at me, and I looked at her. She was one of the two women.

Awkward. But then it got more awkward.

“Is that your wife in the waiting room?” she asked.

“It is,” I said.

“I didn’t know you were married,” she said.

“Well, I am,” I said.

Which was followed by a rather uncomfortable silence broken only by a seemingly unnecessarily terse “Change into this and leave the back open.”

Ten minutes later when she came to collect me, I was painfully aware that I wasn’t wearing any pants, which was only made more painful by what she said.

“I never noticed you wearing a wedding ring,” she said, her own wedding ring being as obvious as my own.

“Well, I never take it off,” I said.

“Not even at work?” she asked.

“Not even at work,” I said.

It was really not the kind of conversation one wants to have standing in front of someone pantsless when you’re going to be unconscious and pantsless in just a few minutes.

When I walked into the procedural room, my doctor noticed my discomfort and, in his own way, made a little joke.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be gentle.”

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• It wasn’t the doctor I was worried about.

• “Anal retentive” describes a psychological state, not a physiological one.

• There are always two sides to every story, no matter what one side thinks.

• Jokes are only funny if both people think they are.

• A little harmless flirting can sometimes bite one in the rear end, metaphorically speaking, of course.