Last weekend Brian and I went to Red Lobster for dinner. We sat there for a while and decided the smokeless bar would do (vs. waiting 45 minutes for a table), and we had good service and a halfway decent meal of seafood given the fact that we're 1,500 miles from any ocean.
While sitting there, an old (and I mean OLD) man came in and sat down and ordered some food to go. Sometimes people are so old, you feel compelled to make conversation with them. Well, this old man wasn't just any old man, he owns El Chepultepec, THE jazz club in Denver's LoDo (Lower Downtown)District. We talked a bit about music, and how long he'd owned the place (his Dad bought it in 1933), and I said "I wish there were more blues bars in Denver. I haven't found a good one yet." To which old man El Chepultepec said "Have you ever been to Ziggie's? It's right here in the neighborhood."
So, last night, Brian and I went there for a couple of drinks and to play pool. The blues band was very good, and as it turns out, Brian used to play there (in bands) years ago, and had some fun going down memory lane.
I beat Brian at about 9 of the 10 games we played. One game I even sunk the 8 ball on the break (you win if you do that). Then one guy came over and said loudly but very charismatically "I could beat you at pool". I said "Back it up." He went and sat down. Apparently he's a drunk who gets easily intimidated.
Then a guy named Richard came up and asked if he could play. Brian said "Sure, but you're playing my wife -- not me. I'm tired of losing, maybe YOU can beat her!"
Well, Richard and I played. I shot straight and beat him the first game. He said "You're pretty good, for a woman."
As you can imagine if you know anything about me, I hate that.
The next game, he beat me, then the next game, I sunk the 8 ball by accident and lost. We had half the bar watching us by the time this long game ended, and Richard was feeling pretty good that he was going to win gain. I had 4 balls left on the table while he shot at the 8. But, I came back to win it, even banking the 8 ball (not shooting straight into the pocket, but using one of the side rails to bounce the ball off of at a certain angle) and and it sunk into a specific pocket.
Richard was shocked. The guys at the table next to me were laughing as Richard said "wow, that hurt" (yeah, losing to a girl will do that, especially in public).
But he was a good sport. As I shook his hand when we left, Richard said, "You're good."
Thanks, Richard. That's more like it.