Alex phoned yesterday at about five, asking if I wanted to go for an early drink. I did. My hangover was long gone, the day’s blog entry dutifully posted, and I was lying on the couch watching a “Twilight Zone” marathon. Since I’m not a pot smoker, none of the episodes’ twist endings were all that surprising. There was nothing keeping me at home.
I walked down to the end of Valencia Street, crossed Mission, and found the door to the Argus bolted shut. I called Alex on my cell.
“Argus is closed today,” I said. “How about the 33?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” he said. Alex didn’t sound very enthusiastic but I was glad he was still up for a drink. Since his wife went to Jamaica for a family holiday, he’s been home most nights watching blood-and-violence cinema on his flat-screen TV. Betty went home to look after cats so it was to be a boys’ night out, and least for an hour or two.
Other than a few slumming hipsters, the 3300 Club attracts a friendly blue-collar crowd. Attempting to order a Mojito will get you nothing but a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head. This is a bar for people who want a Budweiser and a shot of Jack Daniels to end (or start) their day.
Jameson’s on the rocks is acceptable as well. A good thing too, for I am a creature of habit.
Alex sat next to me, drinking a Sierra Nevada and lamenting the low alcohol content of beer. His usual poison is a Stoli Madras, which he prefers to be made with a lot of vodka and a little cranberry and orange juice thrown in for color. All the bartenders at the Argus had learned to mix the drink to his specifications but he was less trusting of those in a different venue.
After one Sierra, he was willing to risk it. He explained to the bartender exactly how he wanted his. Fortunately, she was a quick study. After a few sips of his Madras, a smile returned to his face.
We drank and talked of our respective futures. Alex is going to be the IT director of a company, an actual employee. This is a switch for him. He has been self-employed as a consultant for over a decade. He is now going to be in a purely managerial role. He will be forced to delegate all hands-on work, even the stuff he could accomplish faster himself. The prospect of this made him gulp down his drink and order a Jager shot.
There will be less upheaval for me in 2008. My goal will be the same as it was last year, sustainable mediocrity.
We finished our drinks and had another round. Bad Company played on the jukebox. The holidays were officially over. Tomorrow we would face the future, each in our own way.