Up From the Ashes

When I’m opening a door, how far behind me does someone have to be before I am not obligated to hold the door open for them?  Two, four, ten, twelve steps?  Honestly, this sort of thing causes me a lot of anxiety.  Because inevitably, due to my bad judgement, I’ll hold the door when someone is too far away and they will then feel compelled to run to get to the door as they don’t want to be seen as taking advantage of my kindness.  And I didn’t want that, I just wanted to be nice and hold the door open for them.  When people do run, I usually say “no hurry.”  And I mean it.  Of course, the flip side is that I don’t hold the door and they now think I’m that guy who has no common courtesy.  And it makes me sad to even think I could be “that guy”.

I’m hosed either way.  Maybe I should just start slamming doors in people’s faces.  Of course, that would bring lawsuits.  I don’t want those, either.

The Melbourne (Florida) International Airport is not exactly the prime example of a bustling, thriving airport.  Of all the times I’ve been there, I’ve never seen more than one or two people in the airport bar.  And when I say “the” airport bar, I mean the one and only that there is.  Last Tuesday, however, there were about 10 people in the bar.  I found a spot at the bar and sat down.  About two bar stools to my right, there were two guys sitting and discussing politics.  One was older and wearing a wedding ring, the younger, who also appeared a bit drunk, wasn’t wearing a ring.

“What would you like?”, the Marisa Tomei-sounding bartender asked as she came over.

“Amber Bock.”

“Draft or bottle?”

“Draft,” I replied, thinking that a draft beer is always the better option.

“It may take a few minutes to pour”, she said.  “It doesn’t get used very often, so it’ll be foamy.”

Willing to wait, I told her no problem.  I watched as she tapped the beer and she wasn’t kidding – there was foam in at least half the glass.  She filled it, waited a second and then poured most of the foam out.  As she was refilling what she’d poured out, she looked over at me and said “Just want to make sure you get your money’s worth.”

After saying thanks and while thinking to myself “that’s cool”, the younger of the two guys sitting down from me said to the bartender “I hope that applies to everything.”  I see a curious look cross the bartender’s face as she tried to figure out what that comment meant.  I know that I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but all I could think was “Does he think she’s a hooker?”

I’m sitting there and enjoying my beer while waiting for the inbound flight to arrive.  My total was an odd total, like $4.07.  I only had a five dollar bill, and not wanting to leave less than a $1.00 tip, I reached into my laptop bag and pulled out a quarter, basically giving the bartender $1.18 as a tip.  Almost 30%; hopefully the odd amount doesn’t make me a bad tipper. Perhaps it was odd, because the bartender started talking about foreigners and the uncertainty they have about tipping – but I digress.

Out the window that looks between a jet bridge and a wall, I see my Delta Connection flight finishing its rollout and turning off the runway.  I say to the two guys “Plane’s arrived.”  I sit there enjoying what’s left of my beer and thinking it’s about time to head down to the gate.  As I drink the last bit of my beer and start to gather my things to head to the gate, young drunk guy blurts out to the bartender “If I miss my flight, can I stay at your place?”

Ahhh…now it all make sense.  He’s been drinking and he’s lonely.  The bartender is apparently the nearest female, so she’s the unfortunate victim.  I have to wonder, does this work for him very often? Is it the theory that nine out of ten times you get slapped, but the tenth time makes it all worth it?  I saw the look on his friend/coworkers face when the comment was made – he was pretty embarrassed and probably wanted to apologize on behalf of his buddy.

I’m sure it’s not his first time making an awkward come-on to a bartender, and I’m sure it’s not the first time that’s happened to the bartender, either.  Nor will it probably be the last for either of them.

While I know I made the awkward come-on attempt in my single days, I also know it was rare.  Most of the time discretion and common sense won, regardless of how lonely I felt.  But I have also been to the point where you’re so lonely that anything seems reasonable, even when it’s really not.  And I feel bad about those times where my judgment lacked and some woman was unnecessarily creeped out.  My apologies to the women who I bothered with a look that lasted too long or a comment that just wasn’t right.  And on behalf of the rest of us men, I apologize for guys like drunk young guy in the Melbourne International Aiport.  You deserve better and we’re not all pigs, I promise.