O O Ø O O O O
Beat Calgary
Recollections of a civilized drink.
You arrived at the Ship when there was more staff than customers, and what customers there were were all on the patio outside. You picked a table in the west corner, with your back safely against the wall, and ordered an IPA and the soup and the sandwich.
The sandwich was more like breakfast: ham, egg, cheese, kaiser. The soup was more like lunch: clam chowder, red, inappropriately fresh.
You read the local weekly, featuring an article on a controversial sour gas well drilling programme south and east of the city. The company concerned used to contract your father’s company to manage that particular gas plant, but that’s over now. Your dad loved that job, and as long as he was managing the plan, you didn’t worry about sour gas containment. Now you worry just slightly.
There’s a few more customers now. Most of them stand near the bar, or wander through on their way to the bizarrely smoke-free patio. The bus-boy, who evacuated your plate the very same instant you let go of the spoon, has curiously let your first empty beer glass sit next to its full counterpart for the better part of 15 minutes. Uncertain. Strange.
Midway through your second pint, you start to feel the buzz. It must be getting close to 1:00 pm. There used to be a time when you would feel self conscious about sitting alone in a bar, drinking, but now you find you almost need the occasional solitude.
Hawaiian guitar, punctuated with what sounds like 70s-era cop show tracks drifts easily over you.
From your dark corner in the deep West you watch the wait staff flit back and forth between the patio, the bar, and the Remanco machine. The waitresses all have that unique Ship & Anchor air that suggests they wouldn’t necessarily call the bouncer for help before laying the boots to you. They’re all beautiful, of course. You watch one of them adjust her bra when she thinks no one is looking.
Thank you, you’re fine. Just the bill, please. There’s a whole day ahead.
Ship & Anchor. 17th Avenue. Calgary.
The deep dark West.
You love this place.
Evan Spence
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
PD DCLII