Be someone’s “Gary”

I have no proof that the above story happened, but I have had my own “Gary” experience back in the early 2000s, back when I lived in Toronto. And yes, I’ll name the person and place: Joe Sacco, then-owner/manager of the pub Smokeless Joe on John Street. I was waiting to meet someone for a second date, and she appeared to be running late. Fifteen minutes stretched into thirty, which stretched in forty-five. Finally, just shy of an hour after it was supposed to begin, I got a phone call. Not on my cell phone, but on the bar’s landline (remember those?). The barkeep passed me the phone, and my date told me it wasn’t going to work out. Joe must’ve been observing, because shortly after I dejectedly returned the handset, he walked over to the barkeep and whispered something in his ear. Only a moment passed before the barkeep placed a pint of stout before me, saying “Sorry she’s not coming. Joe told me to give you a couple of these, on the house.” I cryptically wrote about it here…