Recently
I paid a more than pleasant visit to a local dining establishment happily named
T.G.I. Friday’s. Basking in the afterglow of this enchanted experience, I do
say henceforth there will be no more lying etherized on a table for this
patient. Yes, I declare, T.G.I. Friday’s is truly a pleasure palace, a
glass-clinking treat nonpareil, an anodyne for the wintering soul. Of
Watermelon Mojitos and Pink Punk Cosmos I sing; such lush, harmonious Aeolian
tunes were never sweeter. The lyre of Orpheus may have once charmed in similar
fashion all who fell within its range, but I doubt any euphoria lifted spirits
more than would a taste of the Warm Pretzels With Craft Beer-Cheese Dipping
Sauce combination.
O’
mighty gods on high, I do believe I have found my objective correlative in the
Jackberry Smash, and the Buffalo Wings sing such a prelude as to most certainly
bestow upon one the right to smile. Do I dare to eat a chip from the Loaded
Skillet Chip Nachos? And soon the question of a Pick-Three-For-All is dropped
upon my plate. I must confess to indecision’s stall, though Chicken Fingers
make it worth my while after all, and soon-- praised be these
red-and-white-striped sapient sutlers of the Lord-- I am a stuffed man.
At
the bar the investment bankers come and go, calling each other Bro.
Brazen,
the servers here, who cut quite a swath through the mêlée of tables, marking
their territory with grandiose smiles and a cheery ebullience that perforce
empties one of all worry over bottom-of-the-trouser rolling. Old age has no
dominion here. The thrilling coruscation of the hurry-up-please-it’s-time décor
paves the roads of melancholy with a snazzy gilt charm; with constant
fluttering stimulations of the senses galore; with the grace of an eagle
soaring in the summit of heaven. I take the air, I tell you with assurance, to
better dimensions than any tobacco trance. The delightfully brash music tinkles
and thrums from some mysterious place above as I sit for more than a few
much-more-than-happy hours; and all the while the resilient yet fancy-free
bartenders put on inimitable siteswap juggling displays with the liquor
bottles. I even witnessed one of these daring young men ignite a shot glass
into flames before an adventurous patron breathed out the fire and poured the
magic elixir down his gullet. But I digress, dizzy from the enchanting aroma of
Grilled Chicken Fusion Skewers. For indeed, I presume, there will be time to
sample Strawberry Fields Salads and Jack Daniels Chicken & Shrimp; to dare
to disturb the universe with the savory zest of the Kansas City BBQ Burger; to
measure out my life in Diddy Ups, Horny Ritas, and Berri Açaí Sours.
Let
us go then, you and I, when the Happy-Hour lights blaze against the
stained-glass sky; let us go, through certain red-white stripes, the splashy
murals of hot-spot locales, Americana tchotchkes, and the appetite-whetting
scent of Chedder & Bacon Potato Skins; let us go to a place where it’s
always Friday…Oh, do not ask, “Ambitious? Energetic? Engaging?” Let us go and
make our visit.
Posts
