Raise a glass to Pint Night

She strode into the place wearing a tight teal top that ended way before her navel and distressed Levi’s that started just a bit higher than her mons pubis.
“Focus!” winggirl yelled. “She’s not that cute anyway.”

Pint Night at the pub is always exciting, exhilarating.
(And it is not my fault that I’m observant; I wasn’t staring, I was merely looking in her general direction as she stood in line to get her beer.)

I can’t believe I stopped going to pub night for such a very long time.
The place started as a coffee shop by a couple of lawyers. His family owns the building; she wanted a place like the cafe in Paris where she used to study.
The couple started having babies and the place became too much. They sold to another couple, who added a beer and wine license (always six micro beers on tap and always Guinness) and made it a cool little soup and sandwich place (I can highly recommend the half cashew chicken salad on whole wheat with the cup of tomato-basil soup).

Wednesday pint night started as a way for the couple to get out of the house once a week.
In the early days, back when I still lived downtown, I might have been the only patron picking up a pint. I’d call up coworkers to come along. I called friends to meet me downtown.
And things just kinda grew from that.
On pint night, you can buy the glass of the featured micro-beer for $5; refills are just $2 all night (soda and water are always free).
That’s how, when I transmogrified from single guy to family guy, I had a cabinet full of pint beer glasses.
And as I transmogrify back, I just get the beer, still a bargain at $3.50 a pint.
It’s a neighborhood place. Unpretentious. Hip, without being hip.
It’s always loud. You always see someone you know. Parties form and break up, as people join different tables, different groups.
The runners and open-water swimmers come in first. Then the mountain bikers. The college kids come last, always in the mood for a cheap beer.

I had the intention of staying for one beer, then go do my laundry.
I stayed for three.
The laundry can get done tonight.
Although, the new owner added a Thursday pint night, too…


Anonymous said...

"My wingperson"???? What the hell is a wingperson??? I'm telling you, I'm no friggin' wingperson! ;-)

So, what happened after leaving Carnegie's and not finishing laundry? ;-)

-- Wingnut Norbydoo

TheRobRogers said...

Yeah, c'mon Thom, winggirl is the prefered term.

ThomG said...

There. Edits made. Everybody happy?