Dearest Bartender,

The other night I had aperitifs' at a lovely hole in the wall with my date. We decide it is time to mosey homeward. In a completely confusing girl move, I send my date packing (after having a sleepover on Saturday night: poor, poor boys). I grab my car from the garage. I'm moving it literally 5 blocks: is it a good idea to drive? In hindsight, no, no it is not. I dig through my purse to pay the parking attendant. No wallet. Hmmm. Pay with check? Check? Check.

I drive back to said hole in wall. Ask if wallet is around (look on floor, look on bar, etc), nope.

In a strange turn of events which at the time I interpret as general concern for a cute girl, the Bartender takes my keys, dashes out to my car (which is in a state of disarray, by the way), finds my wallet IN my car: on the floorboard no less. Weird, I do not remember putting it there. Bartender stashes keys next to the Bourbon and pours me water. Lots and LOTS of water. The next morning I felt fairly bashful regarding the events of the previous evening. As such, I wrote him a thank you note (as if this makes me classy). It goes something like this:

Dearest Bartender (okay, I'm fairly certain your name is Marcus),

1. Thank you for the delicious wine and generous pours.
2. Thank you for finding my wallet. Presumably in my car.
3. Thank you for taking my keys
4. Thank you for the copious amount of water
5. Thank you for eventually giving my keys back to me.

With Appreciation,

A Grateful Patron



The ever classy McCloud strikes again. Here is to eating more and drinking less.