Three seats away

Tonight at the Tune Inn,
A neighborhood dive bar,
I met a young man,
With afro-esque curly long hair,
Pulled back into a loose ponytail,
Who told me that he
And his "partner,"
Who shared a new baby:
A "surprise,"
Had an agreement,
Such that he, on his way home
From who-knows-where
On a Monday night,
Should stop at said Tune Inn,
Round the corner,
For a Miller Lite or three,
Whilst she stays home
With said love-child,
So that he could tell me
About his need for space,
And show me that he
Had no ring on his finger.
I said to him,
With saccharine voice,
That I hoped
That his wife-I-mean-partner
Was having a nice evening
Nursing their screaming
Bundle of joy
Whilst he talked to me.
"Oh, it's fine with her,"
He asserted, searching my eyes.
Unable to sufficiently mask judgment,
And disgust
Of a pansy responsibility-shirker,
I whispered more loudly
Than I should have
Behind a tattered, crumpled
Paper napkin
To Cousin Steve, beside me
At the bar's corner,
That Mr. 'Fro
Was a deadbeat dad -
Not that I know
Just what that means...
Subsequently,
Mr. 'Fro asked what was the problem.
I lied that the French fries
Were too greasy.
He-of-hairproduct-need
Later changed barstools
So that he was instead sitting
Three seats away.

The Woman Who Won't Hold Doors

Just was passed by the Woman Who Won't Hold Doors For People at the Metro Center station.

After working on the Hill for 5 years, I've passed this woman in the halls and going up and down stairs many times. She's not pretty, but she has a distinctive look.

She's tall, bottle-blonde, wears ballerina flats or kitten heels, and she used to work in Cannon for a member from Florida. I'll never forget, one day, years ago, I was clearly behind her to enter one of the House office buildings, right behind her. I might have as well have been a shadow, though, because once inside, she let that door drop right behind her, with no thought to extending a basic courtesy.

Another time, she stepped on the back of my foot as we descended a Metro escalator.

DC's a tough city. At risk of sounding like a whining Southerner, I will say my opinion anyway. It's basic courtesy to hold the door for someone coming in right behind you. I also think people should wait their turn when walking somewhere and not clip folks' heels or shoulder through a crowd to get two feet ahead in a queue of five thousand.

<Sigh> I've ranted and feel better now. And a life of not holding doors goes on, for the Woman. I'm starting to learn not to expect it anymore.

The Glass Tells All

My friend in the office told me a funny story that I want to share. His friend, Jane Doe, is out at a bar and meets a good looking guy who apparently had a glass eye.

Jane didn't realize he had a glass eye at first. However, as the drinks began to add up, apparently one eye became bloodshot and the other did not. That's how she found out.

Hm...drinking as a litmus test for glass eyes. Highly effective!