Strangers With Candy

I've always loved going to bars by myself.  I love it because it feels like being in a movie.

When I arrived into Chicago on Wednesday night, my intentions were only to spend time with my mother and father, and try to keep them company for long hours in the hospital between treatments.  The American Cancer Society generously put my mother up at the Westin Hotel on Michigan Ave for the time my father was in the ICU.  I checked into the hotel with my mom late Wednesday night and was in awe of how beautiful it was.  The location, the ambiance, the fact that just outside my window was the John Hancock building...  In all my travels and spending nights in amazing and strange places, I have never had the pleasure of staying in such a grandiose downtown hotel.  My intentions were only to spend time with my family, but I didn't want to miss an opportunity to feel rich and fancy for the night.  If only for a few hours.

I tried talking my exhausted mother into joining me for a glass of wine in the hotel bar, but after 3 long sleepless nights in the hospital, the white fluffy king size bed was more appealing to her than a loud bar.  She told me to go out and enjoy the evening, but we both knew that 6am would come quickly and another long day at the hospital was just around the corner.  I would have been more convinced to stay in if I wasn't wearing my new sweater dress and sexy leggings with heels.  I felt hot, I was in a big city - I needed to play pretend, if just for a few hours. 

I sat down at the only empty seat in the bar.  From wall to wall, the room was filled with 30 something business men split into small groups of 4 or 5, laughing loudly over beers and the end of the world series.  I ordered myself a glass of Four Vines Zin and put on my best Emma Stone face waiting for Ryan Gosling to approach and offer to pay for the next glass.

Gosling never showed up.  But a few minutes into my first glass of wine, the seat next to me opened and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before some middle aged man would make their move on the cute redhead alone at the bar.  His name was Paul.  He was from Pennsylvania and in town for a "tool convention".  This later proved to be incredibly ironic as he would reveal himself to be quite a tool.  A few minutes into my free glass of wine, our pleasant conversation about work and the weather turned into a very intense discussion about religion.  Paul is a devout Christian who, while not traveling for the tool business, spends time preaching at his local church praising his lord and savior.  Since he didn't have a congregation to preach to this windy Wednesday night, he decided to save me.

Now, I have talked about my relationship with God on here pretty openly, so I am not going to beat a dead imaginary horse.  But this is inappropriate bar banter no matter what your views of religion are.  And I am sure this man's intentions were good, but I can only take you and your belief system so seriously when you are inching your hand up my skirt. 

I humored Paul in this conversation only because I saw my 2nd glass of wine dwindling away rapidly.  Without hesitation he ordered himself another Maker's and a 3rd glass for me.  Now that I had acquired the alcohol I was seeking, my attention was turned to finding a way out of this conversation.  (Insult to injury, he called me 'Kim' the whole night.  I didn't have the energy to correct him, since I was too busy pushing his hand off my thigh.)

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a tall dark and handsome man approach the other side of me.  I would have dropped my conversation with Paul immediately, but the new handsome man was on a phone call.  He was talking about work, and lord knows what he was saying.  I couldn't hear anything passed his incredibly sexy accent.  The moment he said goodbye to his coworker, I swiveled my chair around to size this guy up more closely.  He looked like Clive Owen, with Hugh Jackman's accent, and a game show host smile.  "Excuse me, sir.  But I have to know where that accent is from."

We began to banter, and Paul grew frustrated I wouldn't listen to another story about a burning bush or casting the first stone.  He excused himself to the bathroom and I quickly informed my new Australian friend that he had to help me shake Paul permanently.  "Well that's quite simple," he smirked "I'll buy your next glass of wine and then you'll have to talk to me."  I could tell you this mystery man's name - but it kills the effect, since it's such a God awful Australian name.  So I'll just refer to him as Clive.

Clive and I finished our drinks, long after Paul went back to his hotel.  And the lights were coming up around us in the bar.  "Well, I guess I should be heading to my room." I said, thanking him again for my wine.  He didn't want to say goodnight, and even convinced me to give him my number. A few goodnight kisses were followed the next day by a few unanswered text messages hoping to see me again before he left Chicago.

I am proud of myself for being as well behaved as I was that night.  Seeing as though a goodnight kiss didn't turn into anything more.  And I can't help but smirk every time I see the business cards of these two gentleman tucked into my purse.  But why this night was so perfect had nothing to do with them, and everything to do with how great it felt to be out on my own again.  I can preach all day long about learning to be happy with yourself, and working on your personal internal relationship.  But at the end of the day, it isn't easy sitting by yourself alone at a bar and making friends with strangers.  I still have the ability to captivate the attention of all kinds of people.  And I needed to be reminded of that.

I think I have decided to start taking myself out for nights like this more often.  Maybe get a cork board I can fill with business cards from the random men I meet that buy me booze.  And in the end, have great new stories from great strangers, that when they meet and get to know me think I am pretty fucking awesome too.