When weirdness reigns, it pours

And it's always, always on a Sunday

But I thought my luck had changed a couple of weeks ago; the day got off to a nice start. They were in town celebrating Eddie’s 70th birthday, and though I’d never met them, I felt as though I had. I mean, look at these guys.

Eddie is sporting the green plaid shirt

They were funny and easygoing—the perfect way to start a Sunday shift. (They were goofy, too, a quality I adore in friends.) One of them stood in the window frantically waving to passing cars as though he knew them. A few puzzled motorists weakly waved back.

His friends shook their heads and said he’d pulled the same stunt at Carnegie Hall the night before, but from the nosebleed seats. We all laughed, and I said that technically, he could now claim that he had performed in Carnegie Hall. I was sorry to see them go, but their celebratory weekend had come to an end and they had trains and planes to catch.

It stayed relatively quiet for the next hour or so, but then a guy came in who set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t anything he said; it was the T-shirt and the rolling suitcase that he opened and started rearranging.

Not to mention the weird dog and the syringe. (Seriously, what the hell?)

I continued waiting on customers, but with only half my attention; the other half was trained on this guy wondering if he was going to start trouble.

I wasn’t in the mood.

He ordered a second beer, and asked for a plastic bag (for the overflow from his suitcase), and the check. Relieved that I would soon see the back of him and his infowars T-shirt, I brought his check immediately. Gulping his beer, he paid, gathered up his belongings and rolled toward the front door.

The side door opened just then and two attractive young women breezed in, ordering an Aperol Spritz and a white wine spritzer before making a beeline for the stools by the open window. I spotted the AJ fan exiting, but noted he was still lurking in front of the window and hoped the young women would not engage. I brought their drinks, and then went to the back dining room to wait on customers.

The sound of glass breaking and screaming had me bolting to the front, wondering if I should have stopped to grab the baseball bat kept behind the bar for emergencies. (I knew that guy was going to be trouble…)

But no—it was one of the two young women shrieking at a passerby walking her dog. The dog owner was also yelling and threatening to call the police, as the more sober of the two women struggled to hold back her friend who almost looked like a cartoon—windmilling fists and pink hair flying as she lunged out the window.

Weird guy nowhere in sight by the way.

I told the dog-walking lady to keep walking—no need to call the cops—and then turned back to the drunken idiots. Channeling the scary, no-nonsense nuns from my youth, I sternly instructed, “OK, get out—right now.” One tried to object, but I silenced her with a look and added “Go out the side door, DO NOT engage with that woman—leave now!” And sulkily, they did. I still don’t know what the fight was about, but I got a broom and went outside to sweep up the broken glass.

When I returned to the bar, Freddie, the martial arts guy who’d been watching the whole scene apologized for not having my back:

“Sorry—if they’d been dudes, I’d have been right there, but women? No way!”

And a shoutout to Victor, a regular who had just arrived and was locking his bike when the fight broke out and DID try to help.

Another incident occurred almost at the end of my shift when a guy wandered in and stood asking a barrage of questions, but didn’t order anything.

You don’t want to jump to conclusions, you try to be patient and answer until it becomes clear that you’re dealing with a lunatic. That took about two seconds, and I had to kick him out, too.

Thankfully Oscar, the night bartender arrived early (as usual), so I did my paperwork, then hopped on a Citi Bike to pedal home. As I rode east on 20th Street, I noticed people in front of me at every crosswalk, stopping and turning to face me to take photos. I knew I wasn’t looking particularly fetching, so I pulled over and turned around myself to see what the hoo-ha was all about.

It was Manhattenhenge, a twice-a-year occurrence when the setting sun lines up with the Manhattan grid. I wondered if it had any effect on the cosmos, the way people always blame crazy behavior on the full moon, but quickly dismissed it. Nope, it was just another Sunday.

My photo doesn’t really do it justice, but I’m glad that I got to finish out the day with some beauty.

And speaking of beauty:

I don’t even follow sports, but it’s impossible to live in NYC and not be overjoyed and filled with hope right now. It’s been a very long time since any of us have felt that.

GO NEW YORK, GO NEW YORK, GO!