I walk in and it's just the bartender (a cute brunette) and a fella who gives me the old eye-lock stare-down on my way in. I say, "hi", and decide I'll be drinking a Smithwick's. I enjoy my drink for a moment and somehow become party to their conversation, having noted the bartender's voice carried an Irish lilt. I mention Savi and Dublin and it turns out that Sara, the bartender, is also from Dublin, but in the way that I'm from South Bend; she's not and I'm not, but close enough to know that telling the absolute truth will earn you a blank stare. The fella turns out to be Jason, her husband, and I learn that they were married in Ireland before a 40-person wedding party shipped over from the states, the horde of which weren't enough to stop Jason, three days after his wedding, from getting his face fixed for him by a longshoreman of an Irishman in the queue of some club. The story goes that these locals came up and stood behind them in line, waiting to get in, and upon noticing that Americans preceded them began the heckling. They had taken aim at a woman, particularly, and the men weren't having it so they told the locals, with no little blustering, to fuck off and fuck off they did but the American men, having gained gallons of spice at the sight of the locals' retreat, called after them in mocking tones. The biggest of the locals turned around mid-step, removed his jacket, and made a beeline for our drunken protagonist. The big man connected on the first shot, which stunned poor Jason. The former pinned the latter to a nearby car (and by this time the bouncers and any police in the area have turned their heads, which is how the Irish authorities handle scuffles in the street) and proceeded to affect the aforementioned "work". Jason, in telling this tale, did not refrain to tell me that he didn't fall down through the whole ordeal, but took his medicine and slumped against the car after it was over; good man!
Edit: forgot to mention that Sara revealed that her cousin, Ollie, runs an eponymous pub in Skerries , and that Savi should go there and tell Ollie that Sara in Denver sent her and mention "St. Patty's green-man costumes" and "Ollie's Bar music videos" and from that point on Savi would have friends in Skerries. She plans to go tomorrow!
Of course I was laughing as he revealed this to me, for in trade I revealed to him that Savi had just seen something similar in theme if not in setting during her first night drinking in Dublin. It happened at a little pub she was patronizing, at a point when she had long ago become fast friends with a pair of grandfatherly men who were taking their pints in peace and buying all of hers for her, seeing in her their young daughters and for nostalgia keeping her glass full. A young twat began raving at the bartender over it's-not-clear-what, just throwing up his hands and bellowing, and the barman calmly came from behind the bar and began administering to the offender with a baseball bat. Finally the drunk was heaved out onto the street and the atmosphere again was peaceful. The old men were ashamed into apologizing, saying a pretty young thing needn't see such barbarianism and oh, don't take this as what Ireland's all about, and on and on.
Through exchanges like these the afternoon through I became an instant regular at Nallen's. I remarked upon learning that the clientele was all regulars that the place does have a "Cheers" feel and Jason pointed down to the end of the bar at this big man, saying that I wouldn't believe it but that guy's name is Norm. God dammit, Denver! I listened to the tale of their marriage and two honeymoons (the first of which the whole fucking wedding party attended) and after a good while I was the happy receiver of a pint from Jason and a pint from this other fellow, Dennis.
Dennis, I told him because he had asked (showing incredible memory and listening skills) pointed questions at key points in the story of Savi's plan and my plan, he being seemingly entertained at the way they compliment each other. He asked what I was writing, and so I told him "ethnographies" and also about the story of the book, which, as it does everyone else, blows his mind. I tell him what to look for online, give him the web address of my blog (and by now I'm seven pints in) and Sara calls down to Old Chicago to order me a Reuben. Through all of this I kind of notice that this Dennis, like me, is a seriously good listener and that, unlike me, his pints seem not to be affecting him (likely he had two during his stay at the bar). I go pick up my food and share fries with Sara, this sight having a profound effect on Dennis, who keeps asking me after I mention any woman in my stories if that woman is "hot". He's a meathead, no doubt; one of these pitbull-shaped gym rats but clearly intelligent and an effective conversation partner...anyway, my phone's dead and I voice concern about getting back home as it's my first day in a new city and my only means of navigation won't navigate anyone as long as its screen's blacked, so Sara offers to give me a lift after her shift, which at that point ended in a few minutes. I listen to this Dennis' plan on creating a new kind of media (basically: interactive television on the internet, where the viewer takes part in the plot of show episodes over the period of days or a week. I revealed to him that Trent Reznor had been successful recently with ARGs (alternate-reality games; think LARPers, but more socially acceptable).) and when the time comes to head out the back, he says "don't be freaked out" and plops down onto the bar-top an FBI business card. "Special Agent" it reads, and queue the nervous laughter and out we go.
...
...
I mean, GAHHHHHHHHHH whatifhethinksimacriminalwhythefuckistheFBIinthesamebarasmewhatshismissionhereisherecruitingishealiarwhoisthisfuckerohgodwhataweirdnight
And so concluded my first night in Denver. I told Katie, my host, the whole thing and ate the other half of my Reuben and told a drunken Savi about it and...good morning, Day 2!
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