Steak and Entertainment

Years ago, I'm going back into the Nineties, my friend Bones was bugging me that I had to try this wonderful steak dinner at a dive bar he had found. It was on Eureka Road, in Wyandotte south of Detroit.

One Saturday he called and asked if I was busy. As I was not, he said, "Let's go get steaks at that bar." So we did.

We arrived a little after six. The bartender was behind the bar (who'da thought?) chatting with three apparent girlfriends sitting on stools the other side of her. Bones and I selected a table and sat. There were no other patrons in the place.

It took a while for the barkeep to attend to us, but so what? We weren't in any hurry. She did eventually come by the table. I ordered a Blue, Bones a Bud.

And we waited.

Waiting.

Still waiting.

Finally I remarked to Bones, I didn't think too loudly, "When are we gonna get our beers?" About that time a slim female arm came over my shoulder, hand tightly clenched around a long neck, and slammed a bottle onto the table in from of me. I actually flinched, startled. I swear the windows rattled. Bones's Bud was similarly delivered.

We began to sip at our beers. Eventually the bartender came back, I suppose out of a sense of duty more than anything else, and asked if we'd like something eat. Well, she more demanded to know, but as our whole purpose in being there were the steaks, I ordered. Steak and baked potato. A salad came with it. "Type of dressing?" she asked me, almost as though it were an interrogation.

"French," I answered simply, trying to pretend that the lamp wasn't blinding me.

Turning to Bones she took his order, duplicating mine so far as the main course went. She next asked him, "Salad Dressing?"

I don't where his mind had wandered to, but it was off somewhere. Bones responds, "Sorry, what?"

This bartender gets right down in his face, I swear I am not making this up, and barks, "Sal-ad Dress-ing!" just like that. With the hyphens.

I watched as Bones's shoulders tightened up and I thought, 'Man, he's gonna punch her! He's gonna coldcock this insolent woman and we'll end up cooling our heels in the Wyandotte jail for the weekend!' Thank goodness he didn't. He exhaled deeply and said through clenched teeth, "Italian... please."

As we're eating (the meal came faster than I had any right to expect) I decided I wanted another Blue. Holding the empty in my hand and looking towards the bar where the ladies continued to sit and chat, I began gently shaking it, to indicate I'd like another. The barkeep ignored me. "She's not gonna bring you another. She's not gonna bring one," Bones kept chanting in a quiet voice behind me. Yet I was insistent, and she did eventually roll her eyes (her head along with them, it was that pronounced) and brought me a second beer.

Later she comes with the bills. I don't remember anymore what I tipped, but it made Bones say, "You're giving her that much?"

"It was worth the entertainment," I replied. The whole ordeal was kind of funny.

So we bade farewell to that fine eatery. I was out the door first, to hear Bones erupt in laughter behind me.

Out on Eureka Road he asks me incredulously, "Do you know what she said to me? DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID TO ME?"

"No, what?" I answered honestly.

"She gets this big, pretty smile on her face and says, 'Have a nice day fellas!' Like everything was normal."

The steaks were outstanding, I must admit. But we never went back. I'm not sure why.