Lunch that day was at the outside area of a restaurant in a hipster and, judging from the 2 large rainbow flags I saw, gay friendly neighborhood. One of the flags was hanging in the window of a Walgreen's. I was slightly befuddled by the notion of gay friendly Walgreen's but decided thinking about it too much would make my head hurt, and I already had the rigors of taking off and putting on the motorcycle helmet to contend with.
Our bearded, bespectacled, tattooed waiter took our order. Wine, beer and hard cider were involved. He carded my niece. In all fairness I in his place would have carded my niece. He carded my nephew. That act seemed to emanate from an excess of caution. When he got to me I noted that although asking for my I.D. would be exceptionally flattering, it was probably unnecessary. He replied, "You look honest", at least he didn't say old, and brought me my wine. He continued in a manner that seemed to swing between friendly and flirty. Perhaps had family members not have been present I would have been better able to ascertain which of these two behaviors he was exhibiting.
As I left to visit the restroom I saw the bartender, young, heavily inked, the cashier, also young, also heavily inked, I began to wonder if there was a place on the job application for that restaurant where one noted the number of their tattoos.
I commented on the handsome silver ring worn by the waiter. Jewelry is my business, I notice such things. He told us how he came about owning it. Friendly, flirty, I still couldn't sort it out.
We finish lunch and my nephew and I return to his bike. I go through what I begin to refer to as "the ritual of the helmet" and we are off to the Minneapolis Institute of Art.