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I had the esteemed honor of hanging out in an airport bar for 2 hours last Friday. I went straight from work to JFK, and from the metal detectors to the Labatt Blue.

I sat at a bar watching old Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and football bloopers. I was joined first by a gentleman from Grand Island who could talk sports quite uncomfortably, and sought to crack jokes about beers to all passerby. He, an elderly gentleman rocking a suit he'd probably owned for a while, didn't have a whole lot to say, just that he'd been out in Long Island on business and was now going back home. I didn't have a whole lot to offer, as talking impeded my eating and drinking.

We were then joined by an early-40s divorcee with a penchant for Heineken and college basketball. She converted travel distance from miles to pints and was the VP of a corporate broadcasting company in midtown. After hearing I was a Syracuse alum, she offered me a job on the spot, but considering her alcohol-induced state, I wasn't sure what kind of job she referred to as I politely nodded and ordered another beer.

Upon hearing she had bought a house on the Niagara River (she had pictures on demand), our friend from Grand Island revealed he'd been a Buffalo Oil man who's semi-retired with two sons in West Palm Beach, Florida and he passes his time now as a consultant and as the Councilman of Grand Island (with business card on demand). I laughed. Those two spoke to themselves as I spoke quietly to Sam Adams.

They got into a conversation about sailing and went on their way as I mocked the bartender for not having enough libations to satisfy my palate. I threw down my tip, threw up middle fingers, and left for the night sky.