Randomness Follows Me, Part 3,427

Saturday night Jenn and I went to Retro on Roscoe, one of the many street fairs that happen in Chicago during the summer. It was a little rainy, but nevertheless we scoped out the crowds watching the three different bands — Elevation (U2 cover band), Sixteen Candles (80s), and some other band that was quite good and appeared to be popular, but I’d never heard of them.

By 9:30, we were starting to get pretty damp, so we decided to duck into a bar on Roscoe Street that I’d never seen before. The first stop was the bathroom, where there was a flyer for a play called 4-H Club. Hmmm. Interesting.

Upon exiting the facilities, we found a table in the front of the bar. I looked over to the two girls sitting at the table next to us, and I did a double take.

I know her.

I went to college with her.

She married my friend.

She divorced my friend.

The girl with her got up and went to the bathroom, so I walked over and asked if she went to K-State. Confirmed. She had no idea who I was, which made the whole thing even funnier, since I knew her entire life story. But I played dumb. And then went back to my table and immediately texted my friend.

But, yes, it get’s weirder.

The girl with her (whose back was to me), went to the bar to get a drink. She looked over at me, and by golly, I knew her, too! Her dad was my mentor and colleague when I was a 4-H agent. She’d graduated from high school just as I was starting that job, so I mainly knew her through her parents. We spent a good 10 minutes catching up on all the folks we have in common.

She lives in Houston now and was in town visiting her grad school classmate (the ex). In fact, she’d asked her dad for my contact info before the trip.

So much excitement in one night about does me in. So we went to another bar, where my co-worker — aka American Strike Force — showed up with his friends Air Wolf and Iron Eagle. They’d just gotten back to the ‘hood after spending the day at Lollapalooza.

Ultimately we went across the street to ASF’s favorite dive bar — Johnny’s. It’s truly a blast from the past. The owner is a cute, tiny little 84-year-old Croatian man. He opens the bar when he feels like it. The doors are locked — he only lets in who he wants. And he’s completely pissed at me (truly) for leaving 3/4 of my Czech beer untouched, as there are only 3 cases left in existence.


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