Name-sake

As I sit in my parked car, eating a chicken quesadilla and debating whether or not I should drive or walk home (mind you, I am .5 miles from my house), I ponder: “what could I blog about tonight?”



Then I realize that the evening has been blog worthy since the get-go and the fact that I sit in my 2001 Pathfinder with dried quacamole on my cheeks, means there is definitely a story to tell. Thus, I think I will entitle this blog “name-sake.”


As long as I can remember, I recall that knowing and remembering someone’s name is one of the best traits a person can carry. I went to a college, which I prefer to refer to as a “Country Club.” It was common practice to meet someone, introduce yourself, re-introduce yourself the next weekend because that persona had “never met you before”, and repeat for 4 years. Thus, I am a bit jaded when it comes to men, as I assume they are all worthless creatures that don’t care a lick about meeting or knowing you.


So you can imagine my surprise when last week I walk into my neighborhood gastropub, which I hadn’t been to since my birthday (March 20th to be exact…just in case you want to buy me a present) , and I am dumbfounded by the bartenders memory. I order a Bell’s Oberon (my all-time favorite summer brew) and he kindly says “oh, I thought you liked Guinness?” Well, as a matter of fact I do LOVE Guinness, but refuse to drink it in America because no one can pour it properly. I remind him of this fact, as if he should have known it all along, and inform him that Oberon is my all time favorite beer, which is impossible to find on draft anywhere in Charleston, and why I am requesting a fresh one at this very moment. He obliges, pours my brew, hands it to me and says “it’s Rebekah, right?”. I look at him like what I imagine a two year old looks like when they realize the Easter Bunny is really their overweight father who spent $200 at Walmart buying Jellybelly’s and Reeses eggs.


I take note of this particular bartenders memory and am extremely impressed with the fact that he remembers not only me, but my name, after 4 months of absence from the bar. Then I start to think, maybe I should embrace this character trait….


So I go to the bar this evening. He Is working, addresses me by my name (in a non-freaky manor…even though he calls me Rebekah, which no one except my family does) and proceeds to keep my glass full of a delicious Albarenio white, without my asking. I am with 3 friends, all who quickly catch on to the fact that he is extremely into me (which I, of course, am oblivious to) and urge me to aknowledge this fact. I decide to be proactive and find out what his name is. I mean, for Pete’s sake, that’s the least I should know at this point….and after learning his name is Brad, and I have never dated a Brad, I decide that is reason enough to be more bold. After lots of twisting, turning, Olan Mills posing and arguing, I somehow end up leaving my phone number on my tab and run out the door like a 12 year old. I would just like to make it known that I do NOT chase men, pursue men, give them means to contact me or even know me…..yet I have left some random bartender, who calls me by my Biblical birth name, my digits and I sit in my beat up car with dried quacamole on my face, secretly hoping he may call.


So it ends, that I order a chicken quesadailla to-go, ask for a “top off” on my glass of wine and revert to bolting out the door before I could possibly become anymore embarrassed. I’m not waiting on a phone call. Not going to avoid the bar because of this encounter BUT am going to chalk it up to a fantastic blog entry that hopefully at least one person will find entertaining. Afterall…this is my life and I truly feel blessed to have such ridiculous encounters 


….tomorrow could hold all the answers. (or a hangover. But I’m willing to bargain)…..