Musings of Me

Taverna Plaka

There are times you simply need to unwind.

I recently took one of these, after a particularly nasty day in retail.

The moment my shift was over, I ran screaming from the mall (almost as quickly as a man dragged in by his girlfriend, intent in her search for the ‘perfect’ poncho). Speeding somewhat conscientiously, I drove straight to Queen of Sheba (an Ethiopian restaurant), and immediately ordered myself a glass of honeyed wine.

“Jillers, what is with the wine?” My brother-in-law was a bit curious I had ordered a drink, as it is somewhat out of character. In case you are wondering how he ended up at Queen of Sheba, our little gang had planned this rendezvous for weeks. “It is my favorite,” I breathed between gulps. “It doesn’t taste like wine at all. Besides, we have to celebrate! Laura is home, and I had my first complaint today!”

I am afraid it is true. I was placed in Zone One (where we greet customers at the door and feign enthusiasm we may have once had). Because of our huge sale, it was extremely crowded, so I was shouting myself hoarse for five hours (in addition to having sore cheeks. Plastering on a smile for that long hurts). To make a long story short, I wasn’t attentive enough to a particular customer. With my luck she was the secret shopper.

“Ouch. Sounds like you had a great day.” Leave it to Lisa to make a statement I, myself, would have uttered. “Oh yeah,” I replied, sarcasm dripping in each word. At this point I was swirling the dregs of my glass, having downed two-thirds of it. “There is nothing like a public reprimand to boost employee morale.” Not that I was thrilled to royally piss off some older, rich woman, but hey. “Angelica understood we cannot please everyone, but she told me to make sure I addressed everyone’s needs. We need to take care of our customers, or we lose them.”

“Why don’t you just quit?” Laura, like Matt, has made it clear in the past what she thinks of my duties as a sales associate. More accurately, she has made it clear what she thinks of the size of my paycheck in comparison to said duties. “I don’t mind it, really, and I like the extra money. Besides, I like my coworkers.” I paused. “Anyway, Laura, how was the drive from Michigan?”

We continued to talk and eat dinner, which consisted of anjara (a type of bread that is used as a utensil), kitfo (ground beef), and yebeg tibs (lamb). It was very distinct, and very tasty. Ethiopian cuisine is always seasoned well, which is why it is a favorite in my family circles.

Post-honeyed wine, we drove to Taverna Plaka. This is what we had planned for, and where things got interesting.

Once valet parking took off with Matt’s car (I noticed the valet was a bit uncoordinated, but whatever), we made a beeline for the bar. Taverna Plaka is known for its martinis, and my relatives for their generosity. Unfortunately, Miles, our usual bartender, was in the front room at the more prestigious section. Cozying up to our favorite perch, we introduced ourselves to Omar, our ‘new’ bartender.

“What can I get you folks this evening?”
While everyone else asked to see the drinks menu, I asked for an espresso martini. I had planned this for weeks, after all. I was halfway finished with my first martini when my fellow barflies finished debating the pros and cons of Chihuly Sunset versus Athena’s Power, so on and so forth.

“Jill! You just downed a martini in under three minutes!” Matt was somewhat surprised because I am not terribly keen on alcohol. “Trust me, I cannot do shots,” I explained. “But this martini is really good.” Of course it was good. It had a LOT of chocolate in it. Most importantly, it had the power to keep me awake.

By martini number two we had moved into the prestigious section. Lisa waited no time before letting her inner wicked woman out. “Hey!!! Everybody is already dancing on the tables!!! Let’s go dance on the bar!!” Laura, eager to watch me make an idiot of myself, pushed for this end. “Jill, I want to see you dance on the ba- Look! Lisa, there is one of the belly dancers!” Yes, there are belly dancers. I have seen them before, but they still impress the hell out of me. Lisa was suitably impressed for her first encounter with them, as well.

Belly dancers aside, not one to corndog out on a perfectly entertaining-sounding proposition, I elbowed my way to the bar and asked if we could dance on it (just to say we danced on the bar, later).

“If you take your shoes off, go for it.”

After giving pause and contemplating what had rested on the surface of the bar, Lisa and I pulled off our shoes and climbed up. Two minutes later, after watching other women pointing and looking extremely (and deliciously, satisfyingly) jealous, another climbed up to join us. Not wanting to be elbowed off the bar by the attention-seeking redhead, Lisa and I climbed down where we validated the experience.

“Lisa, we danced on the bar!!”
“We rock!!”

Because we love to dance, we spent another two hours doing just that. It is nice being able to unwind.

posted by Jill @ 10:58 PM