3 strikes and you’re out

“There are three sides to every story: your side, my side and the truth,” once wrote noted film producer and author Robert Evans. And if the guy who’s worked on “Rosemary’s Baby” (1968), “The Godfather” (1972) and “Chinatown” (1974) doesn’t have perspective, I don’t know who does. However, one does wonder what Fredo Corleone’s story would be if he got the chance to tell it? Or Noah Cross? Think of the Cliff Clavin character from the TV series “Cheers.” Ever wonder what he told his co-workers about his bar exploits? I certainly have.

The hot, dry wind blew into the little bar every time the front door opened. Oftentimes in the bar business, the front door opens and closes so often that nobody really notices. Where is the saloon of TV fantasies where all heads turn when a stranger enters?

Although one also wonders how swinging saloon doors ever provided any security. The very word “bar” comes from an iron cage used to lock up booze in taverns of the Revolutionary Period — swinging half doors, not so much.

The heat made the door opening and closing important. When old air conditioning is pressed into service, sometimes it struggles to keep up.

“Close the door!” someone shouted.

The women who entered the bar put the “glisten” into glistening, the sweat shining on their tanned faces, arms and legs. Sunglasses holding beach-combed hair in piles of disarray on their heads added to the list. Floppy hats in hand, flip-flops on foot and the smell of coconut suntan lotion: They were summer incarnate.

Juging from the fact that they had pulled instead of pushed on the front door, and that they had meandered up the path towards the garbage cans instead of towards the front door, put the “strange” in stranger.

“How are you ladies doing?” asked the man who 10 seconds earlier had shouted “Close the door.”

Funny how things change when priorities change.

But first impressions are first impressions, and the woman who had been shouted at wasn’t forgetting so quickly. She ignored him.

“Where is the restroom?” she asked, verifying earlier observations.

“They are right over there,” answered the man, even though the question had been directed towards the bartender.

She ignored him again.

“Over there,” said the bartender, pointing, much to the chagrin of the shouter.

“Aren’t you married?” asked the man of the bartender once she left.

“What does that have to do with giving directions to the bathroom?” asked the bartender.

For some people, everything is transactional. Maybe you have had friends like this, or even lovers, where it’s like someone is keeping score: I’ve done this for you, so you need to do that for me. And for people like this, there is also an element of competition. The funny thing is that often the person they are in competition with doesn’t even know it.

“Would you like something to drink?” asked the bartender upon her return, eliciting a side-eyed glance from the shouter.

“Yeah, can I get you a drink?” the shouter interjected.

The woman ignored him again.

“Sure,” she said to the bartender.

I have always cautioned women to not accept a drink from a man who they don’t want to talk to. Because he is going to come over. I liken it to vampires. If you don’t invite them in, they can’t come in. Conversely, if you strike up a conversation with them — instead of the other way around — the onus is on you. Don’t expect a bartender to bail you out.

She didn’t need any cautioning. She knew the score. So, she continued to ignore him. She ignored him during her appetizers, and during her entrée salad. She ignored him right up to her final glass of wine.

“Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of wine?” Mr. Shouty asked.

And much to his surprise, she nodded, turning to the bartender.

“What’s the most expensive glass of wine you have?”

“The Reserve cabernet,” replied the bartender.

“How much is it?”

“$42 a glass,” said the bartender.

“We’ll have two,” she said.

“So, are you ladies from around here?” asked the man, after he acknowledged that he would pay for them.

“Just a second,” said the woman, wiping her mouth on the two cocktail napkins, right before then depositing the two napkins in the two glasses of wine.

She and her little group then got up and left, leaving both full glasses of wine, with their floating napkins, on the bar.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• That guy’s story will probably end differently, if he gets a chance to tell it.

• All of us will ultimately be the villain in someone else’s story — eventually.

• “Memories shared serve each differently,” also wrote Robert Evans.

• While we might never see those women again, I suspect that we will see that guy on random weekdays for years to come.

• “I never drink wine,” said Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula in 1931’s “Dracula.”

• Some people have to learn the hard way. And even then, some people never do learn.