In our lifetimes, most of us have felt the chill of the warden's stare, like the time in high school when my mom walked in on me bathing a mannequin.
Yesterday, I made a return visit to Houston's bar. I just wanted a belt of whiskey and a bowl of their delicious tortilla soup. I didn't want to cause a ruckus with my presence there. (Long time readers will recall that I was banned from that establishment.)
So I donned a straw cowboy hat and some over-sized glasses. I was instantly incognito.
I strolled into the bar before the after-work crowd could assemble and found a seat in the middle. In the past, I typically sat at the end next to the television if the bar was empty. I didn't want to repeat past trends with my behavior.
There was only one bartender when I arrived and I didn't recognize him, so I knew he was new. I decided to order my usual drink and relax before placing the soup order.
A short time later, two of the regulars that I was friendly with entered the bar. I was tempted to yell out their name, but caught myself in time. I had to stay nameless.
One drink led to three and I started to loosen up and get chatty with the bartender. I learned Greg was a grad student at one of the local universities and had a wife and baby girl. We both shared our distain for Jerry Jones and a certain type of urban music. The alcohol was lifting any inhibitions I had and I was about to tell him my little secret about being banned when the owner walked up to the bar with a plate of food from the kitchen and sat down across from me.
I clammed up and just stared at my drink. I allowed the nearby conversations of the patrons to fade in and out of my cognizance. It was a good 5 minutes before I looked up and sure enough, the owner was eye-balling me. I looked away casually, beads of sweat forming where the brim of the straw hat met my brow.
A few minutes later, he took his empty plate back to the kitchen and asked Greg to join him. Greg returned immediately and asked for my ID. I had already given a fake name and realized I was about to be busted. Thinking quickly, I told him I left it at home. I was then told he couldn't serve me anymore. What!?! We were just getting to be buddies and now this?
I got the check and fished around in my wallet. I didn't have enough cash and had to put it on my check card. My name is on the check card of course. I was about to confess when the owner walked up.
This dog-eyed gentleman possessed the gate of a wagon train cook and a police lieutenant's snarl. He imediately asked me to leave. Such astonishing effrontery surprised even me.
I paid the bill and left, all the while feeling the aforementioned chill of the warden's stare as I left the premises.
And yes, I am going to try this stunt again, but with a better disguise. Like maybe this one.
Now its war!
