Walking through the door of McMinimin’s, Nolan scanned the pub’s interior, looking for a familiar face. It was a bar known by most Portland locals for its locally brewed beers. Even some unfamiliar with the other southwest watering holes knew of McMinimin’s. Nolan came to the bar after work, knowing the next 78 Tri-Met bus wouldn’t arrive for at least an hour. That meant he could drink a small pitcher containing almost three twelve-ounce beers before the bus came outside the small microbrewery. His coworkers, customer service, and sales representatives worked until 9 p.m. EDT, the cutoff for making sales calls. Nolan was regular enough that the staff predicted what he would order and often took bets on how long it would take him to finish the pitcher. Every once in a while, he would change it up, but it wasn’t all that often.
McMinimin’s nostalgic feel brought people in, the beer preventing them from leaving immediately. Most folks’ favorite was the Imperial Pale Ale, or IPA as it was known.
“Hey there, Nolan,” the bartender said, greeting Nolan with a smile and wave.
“Caitlin, how’re you this fine evening?” Nolan replied. Caitlin, a fiery redhead, had a temper and was known for not putting up with much, particularly from the bar patrons. If you were drunk and rude? Caitlin didn’t wait to hear your objections. She was dialing the non-emergency number for the Beaverton Police Department after giving a second warning. Most of the regulars were aware of her short temper and knew better than to test her. Next to the cash register, the cordless phone was within arm’s reach each night. No one shorted Caitlin. And not one person failed to tip her or her staff. Do it once? That warranted you an earful. Twice? That was enough to 86 you for at least a month, if not longer. And Caitlin had a solid memory.
She’d been serving Nolan for a few months, starting in the winter of 1997. With March Madness now over, April was in full swing, the myriad of flat screens showing every NBA basketball game being played on various screens throughout the establishment. Nolan paid little attention to the screens except when a commercial caught his eye. And during a sporting event?
“What’ll you have tonight?” Caitlin smiled, pouring his IPA into a pitcher and filling a large glass with the beverage straight from the tap. Truthfully, she wasn’t supposed to fill the glass from the tap like that, but as often as Nolan came in? She figured, why the heck not? He tipped well. He was kind to her staff. And not once did he cause any trouble with the other patrons.
Nolan smiled, pointing a finger at her and winking. “Thank you, kindly,” he clicked his cheek. “You are the best.”
“Just doin’ my job in here tonight.” The place was slow for a Thursday evening, considering it was game three of five for the Western Conference, Portland playing against the Los Angeles Lakers. The Lakers beat the Portland for the first two games. If the Blazers lost again tonight, the Lakers would go on to play the Seattle Supersonics. Nolan wasn’t paying too much attention to the game, but already Portland was off to a good start, beating the Lakers by nine points. She pointed to the screen, “Should be a good game. I hear the Blazers may pull it off.”
“Yeah?” Nolan sipped his beer, glancing at the screen. “I never cared for sports much.”
“Me neither,” Caitlin said, cleaning the bartop with a damp towel. “Let’s go see a concert or something like that.”
“I saw Duran Duran at Memorial Coliseum in ’93.”
“Duran Duran? You don’t strike me as the type.”
“Yeah? Well, the girls were there. So were the Cranberries. They opened for Duran.”
Caitlin turned her back to Nolan, pouring four more beers and three pitchers. “Now, that would’ve been a show to see!”
“Yeah. Even though I had two free tickets, my girlfriend refused to go.” Nolan finished the first glass of beer.
“Free? How did you manage that one?” Caitlin spilled one of the beers, cursing under her breath, cleaning her mess, and repouring the beer.
“A friend bought them for me for my birthday.” Nolan glanced at the screen; Portland was down by six points with less than three minutes remaining in the first half of the game.
“That’s the kind of friends I want to have,” she said, smiling at him.
“Yeah. Lost track of those guys a few years ago.”
“I know what you mean. I lost some friends, too. Intentionally lost, maybe.” She grinned, thinking about the three girls she knew. Two of them were college students, and the other friend? She was too immature, even for the outgoing Caitlin. They had fun, enjoying themselves in their early twenties, but it was time to grow up, work, or go to school. Her two college friends were married and starting their families. Caitlin wasn’t ready for that.
Nolan nodded. “Yeah. I wish we’d gone to watch the Cranberries. It’s one of several regrets I have.”
“So, wait. Did you go with someone? Who’d you take?”
Nolan smiled. “My best friend’s wife.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. My buddy didn’t want to go either. He’s into that thrash metal, heavy metal, hard rock sound. Not a dance music fan.”
“And she wanted to go?”
“Yeah.” Nolan shifted on the barstool, glancing at the screen again. “She was real excited to go.”
“And neither of you sat and watched the Cranberries? You know that’s blasphemy for our heritage, right?”
“Ah, yeah, so it is,” Nolan winked at Caitlin. “But how did we know they were going to be something? We didn’t.”
“So. Good show then?”
“She said it was the best one she’s ever been to, and she’d been to a fair amount of concerts in Portland.”
“I guess that’s sayin’ somethin’ then.”
Nolan finished the last of his beer. “Well then, Caitlin. Have an excellent night, and I’ll see you tomorrow or next week.”
“Nolan, you have a wonderful evening,” Caitlin scooped up the cash Nolan left on the bar, ringing him out. “Take care.”
“You too, darlin’.” Nolan winked and made his way out to the bus stop, the game ending with the Lakers winning 104 to 102. Nolan shook his head. “Figures,” he said pointing to the screen, shaking his head at Caitlin.
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