DORIAN bartender Jacob Ring, “Torito” to his friends, was up to his usual tricks Saturday night. The youthful looking thirty-eight year old was once again serving drinks to senior citizens as if they were normal people. No matter the four unsuspecting seniors were forty years older than anyone else in the room. No matter they were baffled by the mass of technology held in the manicured hands of the twenty somethings surrounding them. No matter they looked as out of place as Don Quixote in front the windmills as they listened to the wild music. Mr. Ring strategically placed, directly in front of the four innocents, wine, dessert, and yes, even shots of mezcal.
He may have been oblivious to the damage such concoctions cause the elder stomach, the elder mind. He may have had other Machiavellian ends. Word is he is using family connections in the gustatory world to do a hostile takeover of the beef jerky business. That may be why he was unusually curious about the opinion of his mature patrons on the charcuterie and cheese platter he placed before them. To their credit, they shared their years of wisdom with Mr. Ring willingly, pulling as they always have for the next generation, the generation set to kick ass before the next big thing pushes that generation too aside as the next big thing always does.
His careful attention to the oldsters was unfazed by the young girl in the flashy gold sequin dress walking up the stairs to the room above where, he patiently explained, the expensive private parties occur. It was unfazed by the steady flow of orders coming his way from all corners of the bar, orders that he filled robotically as if mixing complicated drinks was something built into his being.
Long before the real action started, the four senior citizens, stomachs full, heads spinning, minds shot disengaged from the coveted bar stools supporting their ancient arses and walked outside into the cool air. It wasn’t until several steps down the sidewalk that one of the four realized the skill and poise of Jacob “Torito” Ring had left a great impression on his feeble intelligence; so much so that he chooses to share this story with his faithful readers as confirmation that in spite of the RNC and the DNC, in spite of GNC, the world is not going to hell in a handbasket.