A few weeks back I was in a bar and a couple of things happened.  One was just a normal type bar occurrence and the other was pretty funny, if you happened to be in tune to what was happening.

Together, they made me chortle into my beer.

Bar talk.  

It happens.

You never know what it’s gonna be about or who the players will be.

Sometimes it’s just patron to bartender. Others it’s stuff I overhear at other tables.  Maybe it’s a combination of the two.

Like I said, itball depends on the players.

In one of the bars I drop into now and again, it’s more of a performance by the bartender, Madame Dumoore.
What an amazing gift for  trans   formation and make up art this guy has.  I have never not been inspired by what he’s created when I walk into CCs.  

As it would happen, CCs is right next to Darcelle’s where you can find Portland’s famous and Guinness record holder for the oldest female impersonator and Madame Dumoore has the honor of being one of only three – I know I won’t get this right, so I’ll shorthand it – Drag Bartenders in the country.  But that’s not really what he does…it really is art, and to hear him tell it, he’s the master between the three.

Anyway.  

Look at me, digressing.  Who’d have thunk?

The evening in question a group of friends – I’m guessing – were chatting around a table.  I was in and out of awareness of their conversations.  They were talking about dating and seemed to either be debriefing one person’s recent experience or competing about who had the worst experience and/or luck.

I remember chuckling wryly and muttering, “Me.”

I recall 21 Pilots was on because the Silver Fox and I had been enjoying them in heavy rotation on our respective Sonos and iTunes, we both really like them.  It was their song Stressed Out that was playing.  I didn’t give it much thought, other than to nod my head along to the beat of the chorus.

“Wish we could turn back time, to the good old days…”

Somehow it started to take on a comeraderie, which was darkly nice.  Supportive.  Someone dramatically said something along the lines of “That happened to me once, I’m never falling for that BS again!” as they commiserated with the table.

I swear I didn’t tune out for long, but I remember hearing the conversation turn to the good ones that had gotten away.

Mentally, I waved.

Everyone knew where they would dial back to, that one nostalgic Prince Charming.

21 Pilots ended and Cher came on.

After a few beats of Turn Back Time, it hit me and I said – a little too loudly, I think – “Oh, come on!”  That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

After a few minutes of looking around like the coolest crazy person ever, I decided it was just a random occurrence.  No one in the bar was screwing with Spotify to score the conversation happening a table away.

Unbelievable as it sounds, this is (in an admittedly paraphrased manner) exactly what happened.  And much as I tried to figure out if anyone else had noticed, I appeared to be the only one in the bar with nothing better to do than casually eavesdrop while sipping my beer and listening to the music…

You can’t make this shit up, this life of mine.