“Gotta run down to the farm and feed the mail and check the cat…wait…” I looked at the level of white wine in the glass in front of me. “You know what I mean.”

It was Friday and work was long in the wake. We didn’t know if the government was going to shut down or not, and if I sampled the opinion along the bar, I am not sure I could have dredged up much interest one way or the other.

Old Jim scowled and gave the stink-eye to Mimi, an alleged professional oenologist who was camped out on my usual stool at Willow. Her husband was next to her where John-with-an-H normally held court. He had a placid demeanor and seemed long-suffering or just inured to the whole thing. Apparently they sample the local wine scene in order to help formulate Mimi’s desire to run a wine bar in Shirlington one of these months.

“Probably a lot of ferns,” growled Jim. “Disgusting.”

JoeMaz was a surprise appearance at the bar- he had a conference in one of the anonymous Homeland Security offices in the neighborhood, and figured he might find us at the bar. He downed his lager, saying: “Traffic is down, time for me to head for Maryland.”

“Don’t let them hassle you at the border,” I said. He waved as he hit the door and disappeared into the night.

Jim’s bride Mary smiled and took a sip of champagne. “I am going to sleep until 7:30 tomorrow,” she said. “I love weekends.”

And that is exactly what it was- the Friday reward for slogging through a bushel basket of past-performance citations from my contract to support a bid to gain some Air Force work. I was tired, but felt a little warmth in my midsection generated by the cool crisp wine.

That was in contrast to the martini in front of Mimi. That was apparently what got Old Jim talking to Mimi and her husband. She claimed he was a curmudgeon, which he is, of course, but her needling got him to take his game up a notch to the “truculent” setting.

Jon-no-H came in, looking relaxed, and it was the locals versus the traveling side at the Amen Corner.

We got Mimi hooked up with Kevin, the sommelier, who dragged out three bottles of white that were considerably better than the usual $5-a-glass happy hour- Rosenberg Reserve, or something, but at that point I had at least three glasses in front of me, and I was confident that if I was seeing double, there would have been at least four.

“I have to find out what the hell is up with the water in the house,” I said to Jim. “The Roto-Rooter guy said the water meter was still indicating flow, even though all faucets were secured upstairs.”

“This is at the house in Michigan?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I said with a frown. “An un-programmed trip Up North. No time to get airline tickets, so I decided to drive again. Both ways suck, but driving sucks so long.”

“So the running water meter means there is a leak some place?”

“Yep, just with winter coming on full blast.”

“We are driving to An Arbor on Thursday,” said Jim. “Too bad we won’t cross paths. We always go up there to visit Mary’s sister for Christmas.”

“I am going to be Up North by then. You gotta love the Ohio Turnpike and I-75 this time of year,” I said. Jim’s scowl deepened.

“Family,” he said with grave dignity.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I am not looking forward to it, based on past performance. I have about had it with flogging my cars over the 800-mile one-way trip. I don’t drive the Mercedes convertible in the winter and the P-71 Crown Vic police interceptor had a $340 hiccup last trip, plus an EVP failure- another $800- when I got back, plus the gas, so the hell with it. If I spend the better part of a grand on a rental car, it all works out the same.”

“That is a thought,” said Jim. “Make it someone else’s problem.”

“Precisely,” I said. “I still have a Fleet discount from the company I worked for before this one. So, I called Hertz and looked over what they have available. The nice thing is “unlimited miles” and I take them at their word. I will pick up a Chevy Traverse AWD cross-over on Tuesday morning at Reagan and flog it Up North.”

“Chevy Traverse?” said Jim. “I have no idea what that is.”

“I didn’t either,” I said. “But it is a crossover with all-wheel drive and this trip I might be needing it.

“I will be interested in hearing about how it does for you.”

“The description said it had cup-holders for twelve in the correct configuration.”

“A dozen cups,” Jim marveled. “That might be the apex of the American auto industry.”

“That is exactly what I thought. It would be the perfect happy hour mobile. I will be spending about thirty hours inside of it, so I may try all of them.”

Mimi was loudly praising the Rosenberg Reserve for its fine chocolate notes and mellow oaks. I could not tell which one it was from the glasses in front of me, but they all seemed pleasant enough.

“I assume you will be providing us with an extensive appreciation of the vehicle and its performance.”

“Hell yeah. You can count on it. How often do you get to take a rental Traverse to Traverse City?”

“It is an age of wonders,” said Jim, and waved at Katya for another Budweiser. Mary had another glass of champagne.

“Every Traverse comes with rear air vents so everyone can stay more comfortable, no matter where they’re sitting,” I said. “Generous Motors thought of everything.”

“Yeah,” said Jim. “Everything except making a profit. Those morons.”

I took a sip of something that might have been Reserve, or something else. “Yeah, most of the GM performance is all in the past.”

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com