Tag Archives: flat tail

7pm: Wait! Listen

Finally, I am able to make a return to Bailey’s. It’s weird to have a goal and be deterred from it for such random reasons but it is always good to make my way back.

kolschI see a friend when I walk in, so I give him the head-nod and get a beer. It’s time to get a bottle! Flat Tail‘s Tailgater has the most interesting looking label so I get it. I find out about midway that it’s a kolsh and suddenly I’m not so sure. Fall has come to Portland and I am not sure that a kolsh is where I’m at. Too late now though; the bottle had been cracked open and with a woosh I am poured a schooner of the lager.

It’s alright. I’m not paying attention to it and I suppose that’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be, I just happen to want an ale that commands a little more of my attention.

Or maybe not. As I sit down, a conversation between four people about management and business leading to economics and politics which is very commanding of my attention. The ale not being a distraction is a pretty good thing.

Twice, it’s suggested that I am not letting someone with an opposing viewpoint finish. After the second time, I actually stop and have to halt myself. Because despite being a grownup, I still fall into the ways of children, where the one who can shout the loudest wins.

Being a grownup means being quiet for a bit. Being quiet let me hear what was being said and take it for what it was; a perspective. One I mostly disagreed with, because a chunk of it said this: Don’t hate the game, hate the player.

And I think that if the game is rigged, you fix that fucking game or you hate it with all your might. The players will adapt.

Still, I stopped and listened. I understood what was happening. I responded less viscerally and everything improved, including my understanding of the larger picture.

Except for my beverage selection-nothing wrong with the Tailgater, just not scratching the lizard brain. But sometimes, you just gotta roll with it.

Whatever You Say #33

I have come to the Bazi Bierbrasserie and take a quick stock of the place; two men at the bar, one fellow with a laptop and a glass of wine, three couples obviously on dates…the bar it is. Strolling up to a gentleman in a trucker cap, I ask him what fine reddish drink fills his chalice.

They’re out of it. So the bartender recommends Flat Tail‘s Berry White lambic-not quite the same but close, so I go for it. Sometimes, you have to adapt and adaptability is one of the things humans are great at, if we let ourselves be.

I take a seat and the lovely sits across the table when the bartender, Johnny (who introduced himself three times over the course of the night-he just seemed to be one of those eager, people-persons) pitched a house made margarita with spices and a house infused I-can’t-remember-what to her. The eyes go wide and I know already; she’s having the tequila drink.

We settle in for our drinks when a man from a few tables away calls, ‘Those margaritas are the best things ever. He (Johnny) totally converted me to them a few months ago, which is why I had to steal him to come work for me. I went to Vegas and all I could get were margaritas made from Triple Sec and syrup. Terrible!’

I like living in a city where you can randomly run into people who own or at least have a personal stake in the pub you visit.