[Further reflections On Eating at the Bar from our time traveling correspondent Mr. U. Arsenic. — Editor]

Half-hour five minute waits, the apéritif gone unsolicited, unheeded order-up’s, entrées arriving in the soup. The mobile phone, the mobile phone owner, karaoke, trivia night, open mike. Uncleared flatware, a cleared half-finger of Cutty. Stale bread, unexpected bananas. Medium medium rares, over medium over easys. The setting sun shining through the Levolor, an overzealous A/C, an uncomfortable stool. Small plates, California cuisine, cupcakes. Corked claret, burnt coffee. Last night’s last nightcap. The bill. &c.

And yet, despite all this, may your meal be overpriced and underwhelming, your plate cold, your glass soapy, your fish rotten, yes despite all this, all is not lost, there is hope for you and your rotten Tuesday night, your evening can be saved.

With a simple smile.

Dear waitress, waiter, host, hostess, proprietor, server, bartender, barista, line cook, sous-chef, busboy, Mom, wife, girlfriend, stranger — I love you.

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