The Bank needs a deposit of joy
We decided on the Bank last night to have cocktails and figure out a game plan for the rest of the evening. We saddled up to the bar and while selecting a wine, we realized why we haven’t been there in a while – the owner, Alex. First thing he said was that he didn’t have a wine that didn’t have tannins in it so our search for a nice full bodied fruity wine without tannins was a waste of our (and his) time. Then he said, “I’m getting out of here, I’m leaving this place, I can’t stand it one more minute.”
He’s been saying that since we returned from evacuation and it’s worn very thin. Get the fuck out, I wanted to scream at him right there and then. Go! Scram. If you’re not happy, quit bringing us down and just go. He stopped back a couple of times with something else negative to say and then told G that he was going to be in New York and she should look him up.
Right, yeah, let me get your number. No wait, I think I have your number, you’re miserable, right?
We walked over to Wasabi afterwards and had sushi with a dining room full of bohemians. Joe the bartender, a super nice guy, fixed me up a bitters and soda to try to calm my acid stomach from the margarita revelery of the previous night. But it was actually Alex that had soured me.