One for the record books

At my last evening college fair in Houston, I was invited to hang by a recruiter to to a gathering at her place. After I had got back to my hotel, got cleaned up, and ready to go plans changed and the the house was no longer an option.

Rather than stay in on my last night in Houston, I decided to venture out and get a few drinks somewhere. Thanks to Yelp for helping me find the type of bar I wanted to go to. I happened upon Shakespeare Pub (not to be mistaken for Shakespeare's Pub in Kalamazoo, MI).

This dive bar featured live blues music that put me in a great mood, $3 bottles of domestic (since the Shiner wasn't cold yet), and locals. The dimly lit pub had the illusion from the parking lot that there was standing room only. That was the case on the patio, not inside though. I walked in and through the front door you walked right up to the edge of the stage (stage right, to be exact). The stage was littered with instruments waiting to be felt-up like a prom date. I hadn't realized that I just missed a set and the band was taking five. Although there weren't too many people present, I "B-lined it" to the far side of the bar where there appeared to be a few empty seats. I sat in the stool, raised my feet to find a ledge, a foot rest... to the perfect height as though it were made just for me. I raised my eyes to the televisions to see the highlights of the Boston-Tampa game. I have no allegiances to either team, but I felt excited to learn of the comeback by Boston who was at one point down by 7. This was the start to a good evening. I could feel it.

I placed my order of a "Shiner" to the friendly, rotund, curly red-headed bartender. She informed me that the keg was delivered late and hadn't chilled long enough to be served. I glanced over to the bar and saw Bud Light bottles. Some in hands, others abandoned on the bar. I quickly ordered a bottle, so not to seem like a indecisive, yuppie, schmuck. As I waited for the first beer, I observed my fellow patrons. I could tell which were the regulars, the locals, and which were the ones who probably weren't from around here. (Them speaking french was somewhat of a give away). But it was a friendly crowd. They knew each other by their first names. They looked after the bottle or change of the person sitting next to them who stepped out for a cigarette or to use the John. It was a familiar feeling.

A beer or so later, after the ball game's highlights were over and Sex in the City was displayed, the band slowly made their way to the stage one-by-one. I was probably the only one who noticed what was on the TV. I asked for it to be changed, and the bartender responded by handing me the remote. I wanted to put on CNN, but my better judgment told me that this is a bar, and ESPN would make me less of a target later in the night should anything go down. But it didn't matter. The electric guitar was being strum, and along with everyone else my attention turned to the stage.

"Sonny Boy" Terry, like the contractor who built the bar, must have known that I was going to be there because the sweet sound of blues music brought so much life to the dreary week I had been having in rainy Houston. The combination he and guitar player Little Ray Ybarra had going put me in a great mood. These guys were not out of place and neither was their music.

This was a great night... however there is one section of the night, to funny to exclude from this posting.

At one point during the night I was drinking another Bud Light when two ladies passed behind me on the way to the restroom. One of those ladies walked her fingers across my shoulders. Oh, Jesus. At the time, I was minding my own business, jammin' out to the tunes. The lady, who I later described in a text message to a friend as "unsavory, not petite blond woman", was on the prowl. I observed her making a fool of herself hitting on Sonny Boy as he's trying to play a song. She later came by after using the restroom and attempted small talk. She was doing an excellent job of sweet talking me. Informing my that I was the best looking man in the whole bar, which after reflection probably wasn't saying much. I was also probably the youngest guy in the bar as well. She continued to compliment me. But began to catch on that I wasn't looking (at least not for her). She asked, "You have a girlfriend, don't you?" Seeing the opportunity to politely remove myself from any further pursuits, I affirmed her assumption. She then made some comment about me being Hispanic. Inside, I was laughing... outside I was puzzled. She then continued with remarks about how lucky my girlfriend is, but how Hispanic men have more needs, that we have desires that aren't met by our girlfriends, but could be met (and more) by her. Uhhh... This girl was persistent. To my Latino brothers... this girl is giving you fellas a bad name. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was half Filipino, and not at all Hispanic. I did however have the heart (and mind) to decline her offer for a final time. She called me a gentleman. And that I didn't belong in a bar such as this. She lingered a few moments. She told me she was protecting me. "From who?" I thought. "The hotter brunette on the other side of the bar?" Sure, she was the best looking chick at the bar... but she was also inebriated. And, well frankly, it's not my style to pick up the drunkest chick at the bar (unless I'm the one who brought her there). Shortly there after, my pursuer told me good night and left me to my beer and music. I turned away from her and probably had the facial expression that ready, "What the hell was that sh*t?!"

I couldn't have asked for a better night in Houston, TX.