A different kind of People

For once I’m not going to bitch, I’m actually going to praise. Well, I’ll praise and make fun a bit.

Friday night took me once again to Alan’s restaurant in Wicker Park, the tapas bar People. If you remember Friday Night is Alright for Freaks, my previous excursion down this way was less than memorable. Between the cabbie who almost killed me and the lack of service at the restaurant bar, I was less than commendable about the whole experience. Which was peculiar, because my very first venture there, for dinner with Erin and Rick,was very memorable and fantastic. This trip, combined with the stunning dining experience from my first foray to People, helped erase what I will chalk up to an off night.

It was after midnight again, and this time a young lady named Sarah covered the bar. She was very attentive, and kept our drinks fresh, but for all I can remember she was probably the same woman from last time and is just a bit more focused tonight. Then I think she actually may have comped me a beer, which was unexpected but very nice as well. Meanwhile, the bar manager, whose name escapes me but has always been very nice, recognizes me immediately from my previous visits and chats me up while I wait for Alan’s shift to end. He mentions that Erin (Alan’s wife) and her aunt were in earlier for dinner, which I do recall was Erin’s plan. He also complements Alan’s hard work in the kitchen, which I don’t think I ever told him, but hey, surprise! Now you know.

Alan joins me after a while, and we simply get to kick back and chat for a while. Which I find I’m able to do much easier as the music is a touch lower and a much better mix than the previous time, and the crowd seems to have thinned slightly. The overall demeanor of those still socializing inside is also much more low key, and frankly lends itself to what I have to say ends up being an enjoyable venture into Wicker Park.

I did have to laugh at the street traffic outside, which was very much like my previous excursions to the neighborhood. All I can say is, big mess. Like one stupid girl who kept yelling at the bouncer at the Double Door next door. Umm, no matter how much you swear at him, sweetie, he ain’t gonna let your trashed ass back in.

Then there were those people who chose to try and drive rather than take a cab or public transit. Not only did it make for more congestion in an area that’s already claustrophobic with restaurants, clubs and coffeehouses, but these geniuses have to act stupid as well. Like leaning on the horn because someone in front of them is trying to park. Or pulling along the curb in front of the American Apparel, an obvious hotbed of excitement at 12:30 am, leaning out the window and chatting with the girls. It’s an already tight block to begin with, and now you want to congest traffic even more? And why in front of American Apparel? Seriously, meet the poster children for why you should not drink and drive… or procreate.

After Alan and I wrap things up, he and I split a cab again (and Alan, you’ve got to quit giving me $20 for your $5 cab ride!). About this time, I get a text from my former coworker Joe, who informs me that he and his boyfriend Adam are at Charlie’s for Friday night clubbing. I depart company from Alan and head on over to join them.

Thankfully, when I arrive at Charlie’s the line is minimal outside, although I again encounter people arguing with the bouncer at the door. This time I have to sympathize a bit, as he seems to be discriminant in turning people away, with a simply statement that one of the group is ‘over served, so no entry.’ Thankfully he let me pass without question (which is ironic in this instance, as I was probably approaching over served level), but I have to wonder, gee, when did you suddenly become imparted with the wisdom to know by one glance if someone is inebriated? Are you a human breathalyser? And what about those Tina freaks tweaking and dancing shirtless in the club, hmm? How are you thinning them out… or are you? It was a little shady.

I find Joe and Adam on the dance floor with their friend, and I enjoy dancing for a bit to the latest Madonna single. But I look around, and I find myself realizing how out of place I feel at a club like this anymore. I’m almost 35, and I don’t have a hot body so to rip my shirt off and dance like I’m still in my 20’s, and I hate paying $5 for a friggin’ beer. And it’s almost 3 in the morning, what the hell am I doing here? So I say my goodbyes, grab my jacket from coat check, and snag a cab home, where bed awaits.

And another Friday night draws to a close in Chicago.