This particular event, one of the many which I generally refer to as a No Love For Frank moment, took place on a cool, quiet, and altogether peaceful Friday evening. As is custom, a few friends and I had arranged a simple evening of events, namely dinner and a movie. To this day I honestly cannot recall which film we watched...it might have been one of the Lord of the Rings films, but I fear that portion of the evening is lost to my memory. No matter, as it is the events beforehand which are the crux of my tale.

We had decided on T.G.I. Fridays as our venue for dinner, a place that had at the time been one of our 'regular' haunts. Not for any particular attractiveness of the restaurant, but simply that it was a place most of us could agree on. Usually our Friday nights involve anywhere from five to eight people, and between personal quirks and dietary issues Fridays is one of the few places on which we can usually agree. Strangely enough, this night saw only three people gathering for the festivities. That night it was just Big John (to whom I am most thankful for the cigars, among many other things), Joe, and myself, as everyone else had other committments. That allowed us to dispense with the usual half hour discussion (read argument) about where to find food and commence rightly with the evening.

The first clue I missed (somewhat of a habit of mine) came when the waitress arrived at our table....the ubiquitous Angela. I'm sure you've encountered the type before if you venture into the many mass-market style restaurants of this great nation....late teens (sometimes up to mid twenties), very friendly, possessed of an open manner and a glib tongue, generally a mix of servitor and entertainer rather than a mere waitress. Well, Angela was no exception to this. 19, as I recall, and a rather spritely lass. Lithe in stature, with longish dark hair, fair complextion, and of course, the requisite tongue stud that seems to be in thing with certain crowds. To quote my friend John, "there's just something a bit...dirty, about her". Not in any bad way, more of what I would call a "party girl facade". She introduced herself, and began the conversation not as a waitress but more as a friend. We, being a crowd that general enjoys bantering in such an environment, responded in kind. This led to her sitting down at our table and chatting with us at various points of the evening, but I am definitely jumping ahead of things!

Now, this had been an exceptionally difficult week for me, due to a myriad of issues involving my work. The details are not entirely germaine to the discussion, suffice to say that it was such a day that I needed a touch of liquid refreshment. So when she requested our drink selection, I responded with what I have enjoyed many times before in several Fridays.....'18 year Macallan, neat'. For the uninitiated, The Macallan is a single malt scotch whiskey (meaning it comes from a single distiller and is blended with any other products) hailing from the highlands of Scotland, aged in a Sherry Oak cask for 18 years. An excellent beverage, though I prefer the harder-to-find-in-restaurants 25 year for the smoother feel and subtler texture. More expensive than your average drink, but as the saying goes you do get what you pay for. I received a somewhat startled look from her, and she informed me she'd check to see if it was available. Understandable as it generally goes out of stock faster than your Absolut or Seagrams (Macallan being a more expensive drink to obtain both for the restaurant and for the patrons). So my friends and I waited patiently for our drinks, chatting about our respective jobs, prospects for the weekend, the usual banter of friends gathering at the start of a weekend. When she returned, however....that began the series of events at the heart of the tale. Noticing her returning with a lemonade, a beer, and nothing else, it was pretty clear that there would be no Macallan that evening. Never a problem, but for the response. As I recall....

"Sorry, we don't have it. But hey, at least you're not a pedophile!"

This is what I assume passes for whiskey humor around these parts. Perhaps it was a combination of my mood, the delivery of the line (hard to describe, not very tongue-in-cheek at all for a tongue-in-cheek joke), or perhaps my general aversion to the concept of pedophilia jesting or not, but I was rather...mortified by the comment. Maybe it is my own prejudice coming through, but making a pedophile joke on someone you hardly know....not exactly the best of icebreakers. Of course I was not about to say anything about that, so I simply chuckled, asked nicely for a pint of Bass, and thought little more of it. My friends agreed that it was a somewhat odd comment to make, but we decided to chalk it up to quirky sense of humor and let it go. Our drinks finally all arrive, and we toast to friendship and the hopes of a weekend of ease and pleasure.

Time goes by, our meal arrives, and something pegs in that sludge of grey matter encased in my skull. As I mentioned before, at several points in the evening Angela had sat down and joined our conversation. It flowed quite freely, and in those places where I was addressed or could make a valid point or rejoinder I did so. I noticed, however, that while she made eye contact and spoke with both John and Joe, she avoided looking in my direction and said nothing to me outside of the standard communication required between a waitress and patron. Not that it really bothered me in the least...it's her right to associate with people as she wishes, it was just something I noticed.

When it became time to order dessert, my friends availed themselves of the Brownie Obsession...a choice for which she expressed great enthusiasm. I seldom opt for dessert when eating out, but this night I decided to choose what I usually get those few times I make the plunge at Fridays...the Oreo Madness. This choice was met with what I would term extreme disapproval. I wish I could remember the exact wording, but it was something along the lines of 'ugh, that was a terrible choice', and other such phrases.

I had no response to that. Nearly speechless. As she left to place the orders, I merely looked at my friends, and had no need to begin the conversation. They just chuckled, expressed their displeasure over waht they saw as an uncalled for, unprovoked, and rather negative comment, and remaked 'man, there really is no love for frank'. They also spent a few moments trying to pinpoint what it was (read what I had done) that would garner such a reaction.

I'm going to take a moment and explain something somehwat germaine to the story. It's my story, so I can derail it as I see fit! As anyone who knows me would corroborate, I am always polite and courteous when it comes to interacting with wait staff. Aside from my general adherence to 'try to treat others as you wish to be treated', I believe that type of job is rather thankless and stressful, and I do not wish to add nor do they deserve more stress in their lives. I said nothing outside of either courtesy or the bounds of a waitress-patron interaction. I DO NOT hit on waitresses, nor do I leer, or make suggestive comments. Regardless of whether or not there is interest (there was not), I do not do those things. Ever. So when I say I could not come up with a single reason for her sudden aversion to my presence, I state that from both my perspective and those of my friends present.

I didn't spend too much time worrying about this, though. Something had, to quote the Duke, 'put a burr under her saddle about me'. I can accept something like that. We are all very different people, and these things happen. My reaction in situation like that is simple and clear cut. Were she to interact with me in any way, I would respond in a friendly and courteous manner as I require of myself. However I would not broach conversation or insert myself any way in the discussion unless directly addressed. As I saw it, the general avoidance, coupled with the negativity of comments, was a simple indication that she did not hold me in high regard. And I sought to act accordingly...that being not doing anything to further such feelings.

Following our dessert, Angela decided to sit and chat with us for a spell. Again, as I noticed before, she made neither eye nor verbal contact with me in any way. When John or Joe spoke to me I would respond, in quite an animated fasion, but her eyes would flick rapidly between them, and her posture barely even acknowledged my presence. Owing to this, I mostly just followed the conversation with a small smile on my face. For fifteen minutes they chatted, until she just stopped, looked directly at me, and uttered words I still hear from my friends to this day:

"God you're really boring aren't you". The tone tasted of exasperation mixed with a tinge of not too mild disgust. Humor did not exist in the statment in any way, and the silence following the statement from all parties involved was quite palpable. I was, quite naturally, becoming a tad upset. My friends were noticeably taken aback, and as they expressed to me later they did not expect anything like the comment or its tone. I had, and to this day, still have no issue with her feeling negatively towards me. Sometimes it just happens, and I understand that. But dropping the conversation and openly flinging venom at me was totally uncalled for. I was not exactly too enamored of her, but I still treated her with respect. My life is dictated by a very simple code. To borrow once again from The Duke, "I won't be wronged, I won't be insulted, and I won't be laid a hand on. I don't do these things to other people and I expect the same from them". I will admit, I'm not the kind of person everyone loves....I'm a fringer. I don't push myself out in front of people, because I hate attention and I dislike the idea of pushing my presence into places and onto people where it might not be welcomed. I am also very reactionary. Not in the tradition definition, but in that I do not 'act' toward people, as I am much more comfortable in 'reacting' to them. This owes to why I'm not one of those people with a vast network of dozens upon dozens of friends. I'm just not the kind of person to run up to everyone he doesn't know and say 'Hi!'. Just not my nature. I don't ask people to like me, nor do I expect it, nor do I much care when they don't. Everyone has the right to feel and judge as they see fit. But, to burn vulgar for a moment, I do ask that they either treat me with a level of respect and dignity or, if that is not possible, they leave me the fuck alone!

I'd love to say I threw some witty barb, or some offhandedly cool rejoinder, but unfortunately neither would be true. I honestly wish I could tell you ANYTHING regarding the events following that, but my next recollection is walking towards the movie theater (it being a stones throw away from the particular Fridays. Everything between 'boring' and the walk is a complete blank. Such is the way of life, I guess. It became a running gag of sorts, that evening. For the next few months Every Friday, whenever we spoke of going to dinner, the words 'Fridays' and 'Angela' were never left out of the conversation. Party in that one of our friends developed a huge crush on Angela (as they had gone back many times since for the pleasure of her company), but partly in that time honored tradition of good natured ribbing. I laughed, because it truly was a humorous sequence of events. But I never agreed to go there, not once. Not because of the ribbing, or any negative feelings. Not then, and not now do I harbor any ill will towards her for her reactions. But as I said above, I do not wish to place myself where I am not considered welcome. Indeed my only wish would be to understand the situation from her perspective. But if wishes were fishes, life would truly be an ocean.

Well, thats it kiddies. I know you were expecting something more...some grandly tragic legend or some cosmically humorous ballad, and I wish I had the gift of language to paint such pictures, but alas that is not within my meager abilities. Even were it so, No Love For Frank is not any of those things. No Love For Frank is just this.....these kinds of simple events of maddening humor. They just hit, like an unexpected storm, and you can't do anything but ride them out and laugh when all is said and done.