Yesterday's Man

I went back to my home town the other day. I go back from time to time as I have a lot of history there. Now I live in the ‘sticks’ so when I go back my perception is coloured by my last visit and that history. It doesn't take long to feel at home in the geographical surroundings you are so familiar with, and it's easy to forget that time moves on in your absence. This time I hadn't been back in a while, mostly due to the pandemic that shut the world down temporarily and the fact that life in 'the sticks' is my new normality.

Anyway, armed with the confidence of being a 'local' and familiar with all the usual social haunts, I stroll up to a wine bar that I used to frequent. In the past I'd walk in, no problem, like a Giancana associate, no questions asked. I knew the door staff, they knew me and the geezer at the bar knew my drink, gave me priority. So, I guess I showed up with a ‘don’cha know who I am’ look on my face. As I approach, I realise that I have never seen the guy on the door ever before. He was all black gloves, big overcoat and high-vis lumo jacket, that 'uniform' that's supposed to add some authority to what must be a boring job, standing outside a social venue all night. 

I say, 'hi'. He doesn't say anything, just looks me up and down, perhaps figuring out a response to 'hi' with his intellect and mental agility probably contained in the two pockets of the aforementioned overcoat. It's clear that he doesn't have a clue who I am, and he makes no attempt to step aside and allow me into the venue. 

So, I try charm but maybe it doesn't work on the dim. It doesn’t permeate the pockets.

Then he speaks. “You have to book to get in now.”

I look astonished, mostly because I am. I raise an eyebrow, intent on posing a question. Despite his ‘pocket IQ’, he gives me some bollocks about a new policy (he wouldn’t know what a policy was if it slapped him around his shaved head and left a big P on his skull) and repeats that you have to book, plus, as an afterthought, tells me, "they don’t let single blokes in who turn up as a walk in." As he mentions this only as an afterthought, I consider that it must be a sub-clause to the ‘new policy' that he's just remembered. Do I need to get married, I wonder to myself. And which is it - they don't let single blokes in or you have to book?

So I ask if a ‘single bloke’ can book. Seems like a sensible question! He stutters a bit, not because he has a speech impediment, but because it's the sort of question you might get in a court of law that leads to a devastating point that brings down your whole defence like a pack of Jenga sticks that can’t take the strain anymore. He tells me that a single guy can book provided they mention that they are on their own (which all single guys tend to be), and then the venue will sort out a table for one! I feel sorry for the guy as he is trying to be polite now, but seems to be making stuff up on the hoof.

Anyway, in an attempt to rescue things, I call a friend who lives fairly locally to see if he can pitch up and we might blag it as a ‘gay’ couple. He rings me back and says he’s at a golf club do that he had to attend because he won something that most people do not give a toss about. In fact, nor does he, but he's just trying to do the right thing and avoid members talking about a ‘no show.’ I’m okay with that but then he texts to say it’s an extremely boring event. Mildly irritated already because I'm being questioned about my status as a venue legend, I text my friend as follows:

“Boring! Of course it is! It’s at a golf club! You're probably surrounded by middle-aged geezers who can’t stand their wives so they prefer to talk about how shit they are at golf! And I bet they made that speech about how great the weather was and how fantastic the frigging course was too.”

He doesn’t respond.

At that point I knew I’d have to try to blag the door guy. So I chat to him, pulling out my best moves and eventually he says he will ask his boss if I can come in as I seem like a sensible normal guy. (Not sure his assessment was correct, but I roll with it.) Off he goes. A few minutes later he comes back and says he’s really sorry but the boss won’t let single blokes in. 

"Yeah, but you just said single blokes can get in if they book. Does your boss not know his own policy?" I ask.

He stutters again and then says, "Like I said, you have to book if you're a single bloke."

By now, I'm feeling argumentative and, even though I realise that argumentative has never won over any door staff ever, I say, "Cool. So I'd like to book, uh, for say, five minutes time? That okay?"

He laughs. "Sorry, mate, that's not how the booking system works."

I think to myself, 'isn't a booking system about booking ahead and if I give five minutes notice, that is booking ahead,' but I leave it. I came here for a convivial evening not a debate and just ask how the policy applies to single women. 

He stutters a bit more, glances back through the door, but the boss is nowhere in sight. He then falls back on the 'only doing my job' thing but adds, "if it was me, I'd let you in, mate."

I'm thinking, it is you, but by then, I don't care anymore. 

I wasn’t packing a Kalashnikov nor planning to fire-bomb the place. I wasn't wearing a balaclava and attempting to rob the place. I wasn't even drunk! I was just a guy on his own who fancied a glass of wine. So, yeah, time moves on and so do situations. Nothing stays the same. You are never more than a moment from being 'yesterday's man.' 

The lesson I've learned? I need a ‘backup girlfriend’ on speed dial to make me look like a 'couple' at such times. Not sure how I should approach that. Women get sensitive about being appendages.