My Friends at Table 31

Here's to Table 31, aka Nearest Booth to the Bar.

He's had three Long Islands, and she's on her second bottle of House Chianti (one glass). It's no wonder they can't keep their hands off one another, even after they're seated, and it's slightly distracting when I catch a glimpse of them from the bar. At one point, I was certain he would swallow her.

She gets on her cell phone and asks her friend what she should order for dinner. Apparently (I'm told later), her friend asks if a long-haired girl named Jennifer is working the bar that night, and she asks her server my name. When he tells her it's Jennifer, she squeals in delight to her cellphone friend. Afterward, each time she goes to the bathroom, she waves and smiles, "Hi, Jen!" which cracks me up, in the moment. I haven't an earthly idea who she is.

They run up a $189 tab and give the server two Franklins, walk out for a smoke, and never return.

So, of course, the rest of the night , I get an earful about the couple at 31, the boy and girl who swallowed each other and essentially skipped the tip, my friends. My buddies. My good pals.

The relationship you have to your favorite bartender should be precious. Don't just throw our names out to common fools. We mean more to you than than they do... think about it?

I find it very, very easy to be true

I find myself alone when each day is through

Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you

Because you're mine, I walk the line

Johnny Cash, "I Walk The Line"