I bet guys would put their phone number as the tip if it didn’t cost millions of dollars.

 

Guest Post by Mark Haley

If it weren’t for a small Miller High Life sign outside of the front door, I wouldn’t have known I was walking into the right building. As it was, I walked into the wrong door – all of the locals walked into the side door.

I walked straight into the bar at the High Life Longue in Des Moines, Iowa. I mumbled a question to myself. “Should I just sit anywhere?” The bartender (upper 20’s female, short blonde hair, tattoos) asked what I said, I repeated my question at an audible level this time, and she said yes.

I’ve blown my cover.

The waitress asked what I’d like to drink. Miller High Life? I went with its Milwaukee mate, Pabst Blue Ribbon. Pretty much everyone in the restaurant was drinking a beer, even though it was 1 PM. The menu boasted that it didn’t serve any beers that were founded after the 1970’s. It didn’t need to boast about its broasted chicken.I already knew my order before walking in the door. Mac and cheese and two pieces of broasted chicken. I asked the waitress what pieces of chicken I should get. She wisely used the ol’ dark or white quandary to help me along. I said dark, she said thighs and drums are dark, I said one of each, and that was that.

Chicken Broast at The High Life Longue in Des Moines

My meal came much sooner than I was expecting. The first bite I took was mac and cheese. Almost burnt my mouth. The crumbs on top

were a nice touch. I wish there were more of them, though.Then my first bite of chicken, the reason I came here in the first place. They pressure fry their chicken, which nowhere else really does, and it gives the crispy outside a different taste and less greasy finish.

The waitress came back a couple of times to see if I needed anything. I didn’t. She was in her lower 20’s, messy brown hair, T-shirt with an angel design that filled the entire back and stitching on the back pockets of her jeans. I imagined she enjoyed being able to wear casual clothes to work.

After the original excitement of trying the foods, I settled into enjoying the rest of my meal while observing the people in the other booths. The rest of the mac and cheese was pretty good. Very creamy. Three people sat down with white button down (button up?) shirts. Mormons? The chicken was best while it was still piping hot. The blonde bartender stopped working and went to the other side of the bar to sit on a stool and eat.

Good sign.

Then the brunette waitress returned. When she took my empty plate and set down the bill, I asked if I could give her my card. I then put down my credit card to pay for the meal. I wondered if she thought I was going to give her my business card.

I don’t have a business card. Do guys ever give business cards to waitresses? I bet guys would put their phone number as the tip if it didn’t cost millions of dollars (billions with the area code). These are the thoughts I had as she ran my card.

But I didn’t strike up a conversation with her, so she’s still another unknown in my head. The girl from Des Moines who works at the restaurant that all the locals go to. I bet she’s lived there all her life. I bet she’ll never leave.

My receipt says her name is Rafaela. I like to lie to myself and pretend it’s a place from the 60’s that never changed. I will never go back, I decide. I hope the High Life Lounge gets closed down so the locals learn to fully appreciate it.

Is Rafaela wearing those same jeans today? Get a new job, Rafaela. Get a new life.

Quit your job, everyone. Move where you’ve always wanted to live when they close down the High Life Lounge.