Sometimes, I get wrapped up in observing people
As they sip their drinks and live their lives.
This is what i live for.
***********************************************
I flash a smile to the heavyset blond lady and her balding husband
As i set down her daiquiri and his whiskey sour.
She begins to sip her usual 18 ounces of this drink that defines her,
And he knows whether he's drinking Jameson's or Jack
As he retrieves from the glass a perfect cherry,
And puts it in her mouth.
I watch this with adoration, and know without a second thought
That this little Sunday afternoon routine at Table 70
Is just a preview of their happy marriage.
Then there's the guy with the ruffled hair,
Who sits on that same stool at the bar,
Every single day,
With the same Captain and Coke in his hand,
As if a permanent fixture in this place.
He has that same faraway look in his eye,
And I wonder where his thoughts are taking him today,
And why he always comes here alone,
Talks to no one,
And seems like he has no one in the world.
He catches my eye as i top off a drink,
And his gaze is empty.
And so my day goes,
And there is the little old man drinking decaf
As if on schedule.
His tiny wrinkled figure gets lost in the big booth
Where he sits alone
And watches the next generation dance by in
"a big damn rush," as he says.
He tells me with a twinkle of nostalgia about Marie,
His wife whom he buried so many years ago,
And even though I've heard his tale more times than i can count,
I let him keep her memory alive
With his beautiful recollections of her
As i pour him another cup of memories.
The dinner crowd comes in,
And in this flurry i'm dealt the "perfect family"
With their pressed shirts and well-mannered children,
Who call me "miss" and thank me every 17.5 seconds.
The man orders for his wife,
And the children who should be enjoying mac n' cheese are ordering pasta,
And never once do they look at each other
Or exchange any emotion.
The man pays by Visa and tips exactly 15%,
And as they walk out the door,
I feel sorry for them.
Because they are so predefined, together only to fit an image,
But with nothing of real meaning to make them a "family."
Just a collection of people with the same auburn hair.
A young couple, holding hands across the table.
I bring them their usual:
Corona for him, Corona Lite for her,
Becuase she is keeping her girlish figure for this guy,
Who she thinks she might marry someday,
Even though he is cheating on her,
And even though her eyes are on the suited guy at the bar.
They are content with each other,
And tonight he'll drive her home and she'll write about him in her diary,
And he will go to meet his mistress --
And all is well.
Another empty bottle - another empty promise.
Where'd i leave my plastic smile? i wonder
As i bring the corporate business guy at 32
His second gin martini, perfect, on the rocks --
This is the guy i really feel bad for,
Married happily to his career at the age of 40,
Romanced by figures and flowcharts,
On a date with his laptop,
Never needing a table for two.
But sadly, quite content with this routine life.
3 guys, winking and grinning
Lagers and wings.
Filling one ashtray, and then another
I smile back, returning the flirtation,
And all the while looking directly through them,
But doing it anyway to pay my rent.
Let us buy you a drink,
And take you here and do this there,
(and i bet you guys don't even remember my name)
Ah, the single guys who travel in herds.
They add so much flavor to my night.
Guy in a tux at the bar with 15 of his drunk buddies,
And his new wife, still in her $1000 dress,
Sipping Moet White Star and getting pats on the back at the bar.
I watch him do his $100 shot of Louis XIII,
tipsy with new love,
and i wonder...
Will they be sitting at table 72 some 10 years from now,
Having their usual,
Or will they be just a faded memory to each other --
A passing glance from across the bar,
A hazy recollection of something they did when they were young and naive?
And then the lady in her black turtleneck,
sipping Sutter Home white zinfandel
And reading the latest from Danielle Steele,
As she absently twirls her fettucine on her fork,
And asks for her check because she's in a hurry,
Always in a hurry,
To go where?
Eyes as blue as the blue curacao in her other half empty glass
Peer up at me and thank me,
And i wonder where she goes now,
Long black velour coat whisping behind her
As she goes into the night.
My last table.
4 hours, 3 girls, 2 guys, 14 empty bottles of Rolling Rock
And a partridge in a pear tree.
Sexual innuendo permeating the air around their table
As i drop off a check that's going to make their eyes bulge,
But these guys will play it off well
Just like they did last week when they were here
With 3 different girls --
The perfect gentlemen, the romancers...
So suave, so smooth...
so typical.
From across service bar I watch the man in my life,
Selling his top-shelf this and that,
And winning over these strangers with that charisma,
And i wonder what our drink is...
What recipe of liqueurs and garnishes defines us,
As we share our souls...
Everyone has a life story,
That they unconsciously bare over their mixers and shooters,
And i watch it all, intrigued,
Taking down mental notes and keepsakes.
It's what makes these long hours go by so fast...
And sometimes,
In between breaking down and falling apart,
That's just what i need...
A little look at life.
[ 25 November 2002: Message edited by: E-girl ]
[ 25 November 2002: Message edited by: E-girl ]
As they sip their drinks and live their lives.
This is what i live for.
***********************************************
I flash a smile to the heavyset blond lady and her balding husband
As i set down her daiquiri and his whiskey sour.
She begins to sip her usual 18 ounces of this drink that defines her,
And he knows whether he's drinking Jameson's or Jack
As he retrieves from the glass a perfect cherry,
And puts it in her mouth.
I watch this with adoration, and know without a second thought
That this little Sunday afternoon routine at Table 70
Is just a preview of their happy marriage.
Then there's the guy with the ruffled hair,
Who sits on that same stool at the bar,
Every single day,
With the same Captain and Coke in his hand,
As if a permanent fixture in this place.
He has that same faraway look in his eye,
And I wonder where his thoughts are taking him today,
And why he always comes here alone,
Talks to no one,
And seems like he has no one in the world.
He catches my eye as i top off a drink,
And his gaze is empty.
And so my day goes,
And there is the little old man drinking decaf
As if on schedule.
His tiny wrinkled figure gets lost in the big booth
Where he sits alone
And watches the next generation dance by in
"a big damn rush," as he says.
He tells me with a twinkle of nostalgia about Marie,
His wife whom he buried so many years ago,
And even though I've heard his tale more times than i can count,
I let him keep her memory alive
With his beautiful recollections of her
As i pour him another cup of memories.
The dinner crowd comes in,
And in this flurry i'm dealt the "perfect family"
With their pressed shirts and well-mannered children,
Who call me "miss" and thank me every 17.5 seconds.
The man orders for his wife,
And the children who should be enjoying mac n' cheese are ordering pasta,
And never once do they look at each other
Or exchange any emotion.
The man pays by Visa and tips exactly 15%,
And as they walk out the door,
I feel sorry for them.
Because they are so predefined, together only to fit an image,
But with nothing of real meaning to make them a "family."
Just a collection of people with the same auburn hair.
A young couple, holding hands across the table.
I bring them their usual:
Corona for him, Corona Lite for her,
Becuase she is keeping her girlish figure for this guy,
Who she thinks she might marry someday,
Even though he is cheating on her,
And even though her eyes are on the suited guy at the bar.
They are content with each other,
And tonight he'll drive her home and she'll write about him in her diary,
And he will go to meet his mistress --
And all is well.
Another empty bottle - another empty promise.
Where'd i leave my plastic smile? i wonder
As i bring the corporate business guy at 32
His second gin martini, perfect, on the rocks --
This is the guy i really feel bad for,
Married happily to his career at the age of 40,
Romanced by figures and flowcharts,
On a date with his laptop,
Never needing a table for two.
But sadly, quite content with this routine life.
3 guys, winking and grinning
Lagers and wings.
Filling one ashtray, and then another
I smile back, returning the flirtation,
And all the while looking directly through them,
But doing it anyway to pay my rent.
Let us buy you a drink,
And take you here and do this there,
(and i bet you guys don't even remember my name)
Ah, the single guys who travel in herds.
They add so much flavor to my night.
Guy in a tux at the bar with 15 of his drunk buddies,
And his new wife, still in her $1000 dress,
Sipping Moet White Star and getting pats on the back at the bar.
I watch him do his $100 shot of Louis XIII,
tipsy with new love,
and i wonder...
Will they be sitting at table 72 some 10 years from now,
Having their usual,
Or will they be just a faded memory to each other --
A passing glance from across the bar,
A hazy recollection of something they did when they were young and naive?
And then the lady in her black turtleneck,
sipping Sutter Home white zinfandel
And reading the latest from Danielle Steele,
As she absently twirls her fettucine on her fork,
And asks for her check because she's in a hurry,
Always in a hurry,
To go where?
Eyes as blue as the blue curacao in her other half empty glass
Peer up at me and thank me,
And i wonder where she goes now,
Long black velour coat whisping behind her
As she goes into the night.
My last table.
4 hours, 3 girls, 2 guys, 14 empty bottles of Rolling Rock
And a partridge in a pear tree.
Sexual innuendo permeating the air around their table
As i drop off a check that's going to make their eyes bulge,
But these guys will play it off well
Just like they did last week when they were here
With 3 different girls --
The perfect gentlemen, the romancers...
So suave, so smooth...
so typical.
From across service bar I watch the man in my life,
Selling his top-shelf this and that,
And winning over these strangers with that charisma,
And i wonder what our drink is...
What recipe of liqueurs and garnishes defines us,
As we share our souls...
Everyone has a life story,
That they unconsciously bare over their mixers and shooters,
And i watch it all, intrigued,
Taking down mental notes and keepsakes.
It's what makes these long hours go by so fast...
And sometimes,
In between breaking down and falling apart,
That's just what i need...
A little look at life.
[ 25 November 2002: Message edited by: E-girl ]
[ 25 November 2002: Message edited by: E-girl ]
