I noticed a few days ago, in my referral log, a google search fo Zak Sinberg. If you don’t know me from my Durango days, Zak is one of the owners of Lady Falconburgh’s. One of the first bars where I was a regular, my own personal Cheers. Falconburgh’s has been replaced in my heart–most recently by The Daily Bar & Grill in Lincoln Square. Although since moving to my new hood, I can’t say I’ve found a new bar–I’ve certainly not found a waiter or bartender to cater to me like the Sinberg’s or Tommy used to.
Tonight I got home from Rosh Hashanah festivities to find a simple comment. A comment on an old post where I mentioned my (cough, cough) unrequited crush on Zak’s brother Aaron. The comment, “Hi Leah Aaron.”
And I’m happy to report that my heart didn’t sink into my knees–as it might have two years ago, definitely three years ago. I did not break into a cold sweat. I didn’t lose all ability to speak or eat. I just shrugged my shoulders and thought, “It probably isn’t even him.”
But lingering in the back of my head is that google search for Zak that lead somebody here and the possibility that it really was Aaron. And while my heart isn’t in my knees, I am writing about a crush I had over three years ago on a bartender 2000 miles away. (Thank god she’s writing about a crush and not about stupid fucking bread. ENOUGH WITH THE BREAD! [The bread I made for dinner tonight was so pretty, photographs were taken and NOT BY ME!] Can’t she go on more dates? Date another innappropriate musician? Those posts were funny–but bread? Come on.)
Sometimes good customer services is just… good customer service. A hard learned life lesson, but I’d like to think in my post-Aaron/Tommy days, I’ve learned something.
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