The Restaurant Refugee

Her notes demand to be read aloud

Words beg to linger on the palate

Like soft syrah - Lush, ripe, full 

When I first wrote a list of what I wanted in a woman, I was 21, inspired by some movie I cannot recall. It was two pages long.

When I next wrote that list, I was 30, inspired by a failed marriage and finding the impossibly shallow first list while unpacking in a new place. The second list was one page long.

Now I am just past 40, inspired by a question in a tweet and my list can fit on post-it note.

Every kiss is its own dance, has its own rhythms… hell, kisses are goddamn snowflakes in their infinite uniqueness… and any smart man would want a wide swath of them even if he only wants them from one partner.  However, were I forced to choose just one for the rest of my life, I would choose our first.

I don’t know if she wanted to take me home because she was lonely, horny, mad at her ex, or didn’t have cab fare… but I know it wasn’t because she liked me.

Sometimes maturity = making the right choice even when it’s a bad one. I thought about that the whole ride home.

Unless you live under a rock that does not offer television coverage, surely you have seen the DirectTV commercial that is a funny “When you do this, then you do that” exercise, you know: When your cable goes out a bunch of things happen that conclude with reenacting scenes from Platoon with Charlie Sheen.

Admittedly, they’re only funny the first time you see it. By the third viewing, they’re horrifically annoying. But still, I liked it so much that I decided to write my own… based on a true an entirely true story.

Don’t spend gorgeous Sunday evenings drinking at bars that don’t take credit cards and ask for your ID to start a tab.

When you go to those kind a bars, on those kinda nights, you might have several lovely drinks.

When you have several lovely drinks on a patio you might think it a good idea to call an, *ahem*, old partner of mutual convenience who now lives in a hoity-toity party of town.

When you settle your tab at the bar that doesn’t take credit cards to go see that convenient woman, the bartender might forget to give you your ID back.

When the bartender forgets to give you your ID, and you have a buzz (but not in the same neighborhood as drunk) before heading to see a woman in a hoity-toity part of town, you might have written the wrong address and passed such to the taxi driver.

When you give the taxi driver the wrong address, you might have to walk a few blocks in that hoity-toity neighborhood.

When walking-while-black in that hoity toity part of town, you might draw the attention of the local police.

When drawing the attention of the local police for walking-while-black and not having your ID because the bar that doesn’t take credit cards forgot to give it back to you, you might get “detained” by the local police.

When you get detained – not arrested but it sure felt like it – because the local police “can’t confirm your identity” despite all of your credit cards, and other identifying information, you still spend hours in a police station for no good reason.

Don’t go to bars that don’t take credit cards because you’ll eventually be detained by police… since not walking/driving/breathing-while-black is not an option for me.

We are separated by a generation, a thousand miles, and I haven’t worn a hoodie since I was an undergrad, but I am still Trayvon Martin…

when I am (still) followed around stores

when I cross the street at night before some random she has a chance to just so I won’t have to suffer the indignity of watching her jaywalking away from the dangerous me

when I hear doors lock as I pass near a car

when I am unfailingly polite to rude police officers because the consequences of not doing so are disproportionate

when I am routinely passed by empty cabs on the street

when I am reminded that my tailored suits and fancy education don’t really make me immune to the everyday slights

when I encounter (too goddamn frequently) the realization that the color of my skin is probable cause for suspicion

and I am Trayvon’s father when I delivered the “Talk” to my 20year old nephew who I pray will never have to give that talk when he is my age 

Dear Dreadlocked Woman Driving the Top-Down BMW* Yesterday,

I don’t know why you waved at me as you drove past the coffee shop. The truth of the answer matters not as you kept driving leaving my mind to complete its own question. I choose to believe that you found some sort of kindredness of spirit, some commonality in appreciation of enjoying the glorious weather days when they come. I choose to believe that you waved because something kept you from stopping even though you wanted to join me as much as I would have liked to have been your passenger. Some days it doesn’t matter where you’re going.

Thanks, I needed that.

Sincerely,

The Cigar Smoking Guy from the Coffee Shop Patio

* model of car only referenced in case someone knows a dreadlocked woman with a new drop-top 3 series and you wanna point her this way.

**

Dear New Girl at my Favorite Bar,

There are rules to this; rules for flirting at the bar, rules for servers flirting with guests. I know better than most that every restaurant professional uses flirtation to enhance tips. You break the rules, however, when you traverse the distance between the harmless and the “I want you now” flirting. You crossed the line not when you invited me to your place to drink rum the bar didn’t have (yeah, ya kinda did,) but definitely when you didn’t mean it.

When my friends did everything but bolt me to the chair to get me to stay for a night cap after they had left, you made me look like a fool. People are entitled to flirt in what ever (reasonable) manner they wish. Servers making a guest feel foolish because you mislead them, issued false invitations, and created a phony impression, however, break rules for civility and professionalism.

Sincerely,

The Gentleman Who Never Sit in Your Section

and p.s. Do not try to hug me again.

**

Dear Woman I Wish I Could Like More,

Concern and desire to make a partner happy are great. Being excessively deferential, on the other hand, is decidedly un-sexy. I am sure that there are some men out there who want to hear “Whatever you want” in reply to every question. Certainly some men are charmed when you tell the bartender “I’ll have whatever he’s having.” But those men are either: seeking stepford wives, or soon to make a guest appearance on Law & Order SVU.

Sincerely,

The Gentleman Who Thinks Smart, Opinionated, Assertive Woman are Sexy.

**

Dear Women I Hope to Kiss in the Future

If you, like the last few dates I’ve had, believe that you should lead with the tongue when kissing, let’s just agree to disagree. If you think that porn is instructional not recreational (as applies to the kissing,) let’s just not bother. If you prefer tongue to be the main ingredient in kissing not just the salt that accents it, please, the good lord willing and the creak don’t rise, may our lips never cross paths.

Sincerely,

The Gentleman with a String Tonsil Inspecting Dates