Are You A Virgo

Overheard In A New York Bar

He looked like every other knucklehead in the Valley of the Sun: shaved head, enough ink disappearing up his sleeves to have kept several tattoo artists on the west side busy for six months or so. The bar was empty, save the three lithe, young, blonde women from Orange County. So the Mr. Knucklehead pulled his chair right in between the blondes.

They had wandered in to the place half an hour earlier. After ordering their second round of Key Lime pie shots, they announced they were in the joint to write an article on dive bars in Scottsdale. No press credentials. No pulling up their blogs/magazine on their smart phones; just another round.

Until the knucklehead walked in, the only guy in the joint was Steve the barman. Maybe the blondes figured dropping the name of the magazine they interned at back in LA would get them some free booze. He didn’t disappoint. For the next 45 minutes, the blondes had shots and rounds with/on Knucklehead.

Steve couldn’t believe it. Knucklehead had just walked up to the to these three women, dropped his chair next to the two closest to the door, asked “is anyone sitting here,” and it worked. As a bartender there is nothing more gaulling than having to listen to moronic lines from the lips of morons.

Finally after another twenty minutes Knucklehead and three women agreed to go to another joint. He asked Steve to take a picture of the four. As the women primped for the digital camera, Mr. Knucklehead pulled the blonde with a Jen Aniston haircut close to hi left side. “You are so intelligent and passionate. You must be a Virgo,” he asked.

Picture taken, they all hopped into a cab and off they went to the next joint valley joint. That last time that line worked was at 1976 at Studio 54 and Steve and I were there to see it.