Remember the bartender from our first night in town–Dominick? I said he’d come back up, and I almost forgot to tell you the story!
On our last night in London, Matt and I were walking through our neighborhood, when we heard a rowdy crowd from a 3rd floor terrace. They were drunk, whooping and hollering at anybody who passed by. When we moved into range, they started shouting at us. Nothing vile, just drunken revelry. Then one guy steps forward and lifts up his shirt, writhing around a bit and hooting. Showing off the goods. I paid it no mind and kept walking (because–let’s face it–most women learn quickly to ignore all forms of cat-calling), but Matt stops and says, “I know that guy.”
Now, I think Matt’s messing around or perhaps indulging me in one of my favorite people watching game where you pick out a random stranger and say “I know that guy…” and keep it going for as long as you can. BUT MATT WAS SERIOUS. He recognized the guy on the terrace.
Matt points up and shouts back, “I know you!” The guy with his nipples out suddenly looks sober. Matt goes on, “YOU WERE OUR BARTENDER!” The guy looks confused…he’s racking his brain. Finally Matt drives it home: “You’re Dominick!” Dominick’s face falls and he slowly lowers his shirt, like, shoot! I’ve been found out! IT’S NO LONGER AN ANONYMOUS FLASHING. Then I recognize him too and Matt and I both wave. Dominick squints down at us, then starts laughing. He remembers us too. He waves back excitedly and asks us when we’re leaving and if we’ve had a good time. We said all was well and we were leaving early in the morning. We share a good chuckle and carry on.
As we walk away, Matt shakes his head and says, “I’d recognize that chest hair anywhere.”