Safe Space No More

So I went to this basement bar for the second Thursday in a row last night.  I planned on doing it after having a wonderful time there last Thursday; the drinks were great, the customer service excellent, and it was a great way to unwind after working The Fourth Department -- even though, as far as I can recall, last Thursday wasn't so bad and yesterday was quite possibly the easiest day ever back in that position because there was not an avalanche of work that was stressing me out late in the afternoon.  I started going to these secret bars because I needed to unplug for a bad day at work.  I didn't have that bad day yesterday, but I wanted to go back to this bar that I was set on going as soon as I left there last week.  Hell, when I came in and saw the same bartender who served me my drinks last week, I told him that I wanted to be back in my safe space.  Also, I wanted to go back because this will be the last Thursday I'll be back in The Fourth Department for a while now.  Because my co-worker left, chances are I will be filling in that position Mondays through Wednesdays (though sometimes just through Tuesdays), and this place is open only Thursdays through Saturdays.

I also had a great time last night.  Got a different bartender, but she made fantastic drinks.  They now serve food, and after getting one of the three plates last week, I actually got the other two this time around.  Add all that up and, frankly, I may have been a little punchy.  But hey, I was in my safe space.

They have great music there.  So much so that, when my ears perk up on a really interesting song, I Shazam it.  Well, there was this one that I had to know about, so I got up off my chair and stuck the butt of my phone at the nearest speaker.  This song was so damn obscure, Shazam couldn't identify it.  This speaker was close to a couple sitting at a table.  The man of the couple tried to peg the song through Shazam, but he too was unsuccessful.

The cool part about this bar is that these songs are played on turntables.  And right next to this speaker I sidled up against are the two turntables the bartenders play the music from.  They put the album covers right behind both turntables.  I swear -- I swear -- on a previous visit I was told by a bartender that I could pick up an album cover and look at it.  So that's what my drunk ass did.  I looked at it and put it back -- and by the way, I ate finger food before all this and I didn't wipe my hands, I confess -- and I turn around and almost run into one of the bartenders.  Now, I say that the customer service here has been excellent.  It has.  But I have to say that this bartender, the first time I met her, she fucked up my order.  She gave me a spirit different from the one I asked for, and so she made me two drinks that were similar to each other, and she charged me for both.  That's OK.  But ever since, whenever I've seen or spoken to her, she's given off nonplussed vibes.  So I apologize for grabbing the album sleeve and she said it was OK ... "just ask first."  And you know that means she didn't want me touching their records.

It could be me, but I kind of felt a chill from the bartenders after that.  I was going to leave soon after anyway, but at that point it felt like I overstayed my welcome, so I skedaddled -- well, after drinking a couple cups of water to cool down my tongue after eating the serrano peppers that came with that finger food.  It's going to be a while before I have an occasion to go back there, and maybe it's best that I cool it for a while.  But I don't know if I can be as 100% happy as I had been after that, uh, encounter.  And all because I got a little handsy with an album cover and she didn't like it?  Maybe I push things too far ... but I swear I was told I could pick 'em up and look at 'em!