Free Spirits

There are some places where you really don't expect good service.  The DMV.  The mechanic.  I would put dive bars in that category as well.  It's part of the gritty charm of a dive bar that the waitresses (who no doubt have bigger biceps than your boyfriend) treat you with indifference and disdain.  I fondly remember Mug Nights at the Irish Tavern, and the waitresses there...let's just say they didn't suffer (drunken) fools gladly.

I went to Free Spirits for lunch because I needed something close to the undisclosed location I was at, and a bar burger sounded just fine.  Wendy and I got there a bit early, which may have turned out to be a mistake.  Nobody loves a power trip like someone powerless, and I'm pretty darn sure they opened seven minutes late just out of the pure pleasure of making us wait.  It's not like the cute waitress was falling over herself to help us either; I've never seen anyone so gifted at avoiding eye contact.  No matter.  I don't particularly need my waitress to be my best friend, I'm all about the professional efficiency, not that schmoozy, let me pop-a-squat and fake intimacy with my customers to hopefully get a better tip.  You know, like they do at Fridays, and Applebees, and...I could never pull off that fake shit, which is probably why I had so little success when I worked at places like that.

Anyway, she was barely civil but it's ok.  The burgers came in time and were tasty as hell and I'd still go back, with no expectations, as usual.  It was pretty neat seeing a grandmotherly woman ordering a scotch, neat, on a Friday at noon.  Man, I can't wait to be old and not have to pretend to be respectable...it's going to be awesome.