55 Hours Of Living Fully: Part Seven

Today concludes the seven part series detailing a recent string of remarkable events I was party to, and I'm sure everyone's tired of it by now. Where I left off yesterday, a great improv show put on by friends had ended, and we were all talking gregariously on the sidewalk when the lights went off. More often than not, we just take the fun someplace else rather than doing the sensible thing and calling it a night. Now, there's a particular post-show hangout for every venue that my improv program uses. For this theater, we usuallygo to a particular all-night diner after shows at that venue. Certain persuasive parties shifted it to a different diner, and it was a welcome change. I think that I like the idea of the usual place a little bit better than the place itself. It has things going for it. History is one, and bright lights and ambience which does not overwhelm conversation are others. The food is so-so, as is the service.

This place we did go to suffers some where a moderate ambience is concerned, but a wilder place is all right sometimes. I was struck by the thought that there must be a drunken celebrity there somewhere if I could only identify them. The conversation was raucous and fun, and I found myself situated among the same people with whom I sat as I recorded and watched the show. Sometimes it's true as they say that familiarity breeds contempt, but not so this time. The food was not too bad, and the service was unbelievably good. I got something called a Boston Egg Creme, which was a thin dessert drink which reminded me of nothing more so than a dessert version of club soda. If I had it to do over, I suppose I would have gotten something else, but I still believe in trying new things as well as indulging my whims. I had mainly picked it because of the associations in my mind evoked by the item's title.

As I said, the service was fantastic. Our server expended all possible energy, and as I write this he makes me think of Gunga Din, who you'll recall served water under fire with gusto to British soldiers fighting a frenzied battle in India. He was flying around like a bat out of hell, serving our table, other tables and braving the heat of the kitchen to bully the staff into making some of our food and making other items personally. The splitting and paying of the bill was drawn out by some concern that we were not properly compensating the server in light of the positively superhuman job he had done. I wonder if there's not a place he ought to be where he might serve mankind in larger, more far-reaching ways.

At long last, we finished that and left. With almost nothing left, two others and I drove away from there and contemplated the concluded experience. Once they dropped me off, I could finally ease my mind and let my shoulders sag. I hurt in a number of ways, even my eyes. I did some perfunctory browsing on the computer, then slowly discarded all remaining affectations needed out of the house and sank into bed- that is, after I cleared it of all the junk I had left on it that morning. So the remarkable experience ended with a whimper, as such things so often do. Tomorrow, you may be sure that I shall be writing about something else!