Cheesecake Connesuir

A few minutes after I took my seat at the bar/lounge, a group of guys took a seat at the couch next to me. Right off the bat, I didn’t like one of them. He had a green woolen hat. Let’s call him green hat guy. I didn’t like green hat guy because I didn’t like how loud he was talking. He and the other guys he was with were well dressed and were talking about tech. I heard green hat guy say the names “Oracle” and “Microsoft.”

When the waitress came over to the men, she asked them what they would like to drink, and green-hat guy answered first.

“A beer,” he said.

I thought that his answer was incredibly rude because it obviously begs the question, “Well, what kind of beer?” and just makes the waitress’s life that much harder.

“What kind of beer?” the waitress asked.

I was proud of her. She did not seem fazed by the guy's stupid little “beer” answer.

“A Pils,” he said.

Again, the answer annoyed me because it begs the question, “Well, what kind of Pils?”

“What kind of Pils?” the waitress said.

“A Holsten,” came the answer.

The other guys with green hat guy gave their drink orders normally.

Then, about 30 minutes later -- the group of guys by this point had already drunk and left -- a young woman,  I think she was the waitress’s friend, put a small piece of paper down on the table in front of me. The paper read, “NY Cheesecake! Hausgemacht! -1.90 -.”

I didn’t want cheesecake, but I liked the price and I liked how the girl had actually handwritten the “ad” for it.

At some point, I decided I needed to go to the bathroom, and on my way there, I saw the girl who had put the “ad” down on my table. She was sitting at the bar. She looked at me nicely and she looked like a nice person, and as I was heading downstairs to the bathroom, I thought to myself, “Well, I don’t really want cheesecake, but she looked nice, and maybe she made that cheesecake herself.”

I even concocted a little story in which this girl asked her waitress friend if she could sell her cheesecake in the establishment. Maybe, I thought, cheesecake girl had always made cheesecakes and wanted now to share her gift for baking them with the world.

When I got back upstairs, I leaned over the bar to ask the waitress for a piece of the cheesecake. She was actually already cutting a piece for someone else. She looked at me as she was cutting.

“Exactly . . . ” I said, “Can I have a piece too?”

The cheesecake was pretty good. But, then again, I’m no cheesecake connoisseur.