(Willow’s secret experiment- don’t tell anyone how much it costs! Photo Socotra).

Old Jim called me up to ask if I was going to stop by Willow on the way home. It was a tipping point- left to my own devices I would have just gone home to Big Pink and enjoyed the mellow afternoon sun that threatened to be overwhelmed by a rear-guard action of the winter that won’t quit.

But I enjoy the human company, and the workplace has been quite dynamic as the Government Customer rouses from its long torpor. I told him I would be by, and got back to work.

Work is good, considering the alternative, and I had the radio going in between conference calls to stay abreast of the investigation into what happened in Boston, and the why of it. I wondered if there would be a Blue Ribbon Panel established, as they did in the aftermath of the attacks on the Marine Barracks in Beirut, or Khobar Towers or the USS Cole Attack.

Nothing as big as the 9/11 Commission, certainly, but something to collect what went wrong. I did not hear anything like that, but who knows. Maybe we will try to learn something about how and why this happened. I have my doubts.

Anyway, when it finally got to the time when I could sling my back-back on the hook under the bar at Willow, I was done with that for the day. I looked over at Jim where he was sucking on a long-neck Bud and told him I could not bear to delve much further into the sordid and pathetic lives of those two welfare losers in Boston.

“I can understand the process of radicalization. To a degree I have felt the process myself, as society appears to be continuing a trajectory toward disaster. The trend is that more of these events are happening. What is a citizen to do, when everything is going in the wrong direction?”

“Have a drink,” growled Jim.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I responded, and yawned. I am not getting enough beauty sleep these days. Brett appeared, Genie-like, and poured a crisp and impertinent glass of white into a tulip glass. I raised it to my lips and let some pour over my soft palate, down the throat and into a warm spot in my mid-section. “Not bad.”

Chris the Sommelier and Barkeep Extraordinaire wandered down to talk to the regulars. I asked him if he was having a burger-of-the-week special, and he shook his head. “We are taking a break on that this week. We have an experiment going on.”

Jim and I exchanged glances. We have both been the subject of other people’s experiments before, usually to no constructive outcome. “What sort of experiment?” I asked suspiciously.

Chris leaned forward, his Devil Dog tattoo on his right forearm right with color. “We are having a Facebook burger.”

Last week it was an egg-topped apple-bacon cheeseburger with barbeque sauce, a sort of bar counterpoint to Tracy O’Grady’s finer cuisine in the main dining room. “What on earth is a Facebook burger?” asked John-with-an-H.

“Ah,” said Chris with a mysterious smile. “It is our usual Willow burger, two patties of organic-raised beef with a nice slice of Bermuda onion, cheddar cheese melt and a big pickle on the side.”

I am off beef at the moment, but I am an enthusiastic follower of scientific experiments, like Congress. “So what is the secret about your usual burger?”

Chris looked up and down the bar and leaned in, conspiratorial. “We posted it on our Facebook page, and priced it at $5 bucks.”

“Five bucks? That is a fabulous price! You couldn’t buy the ingredients at for that, even if you cooked it yourself!”

“Right- it would be a loss-leader if we featured it. What we are doing is trying to see who is visiting the page, and hopefully mold behavior.”

“I don’t use Facebook,” growled Jim.

“Then you will pay the usual price,” responded Chris. “We are in new territory here. Cutting edge.”

“They say the Jihadis were twittering and Facebooking all their lame stuff,” I said.

Jim looked over at me with a wry smile. “I thought you weren’t going to talk about them.”

“I’m not. I am talking about social media and hamburgers.” I looked up at Chris. “How many special priced sandwiches have you sold?”

He pursed his lips. “About five, so far.”

“Make it six,” said John-with. “Special price, please. I saw it on Facebook.”

Chanteuse Mary and The Lovely Bea arrived and watched as Jon-without made it seven, saying he had seen it on social media. I had another glass of wine, and felt it impact my system. I ate John-with’s pickle, which was as far down that road as I felt I could go.

I gathered my crap together as Jon-without’s burger arrived. “I am going to take off,” I said. “Catch me up on the lesson’s-learned for this on Friday, would you?”

Jim nodded solemnly. “Hopefully we will know more by then,” he said, and ordered another Bud.

“I sure hope so,” I said. “It would be nice if somebody did.”

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com