Pappys: The College Sportsbar scene in Berkeley

She was a beach blonde girl wearing a thin university jacket.  She was waiting for her order.  At first I hadn’t really noticed her.  I was more interested in the massive salad in front of the middle aged man sitting two seats down from her at the long table.  After awhile, it seemed like my burger was going to take a moment.  I pulled a chair out and decided to take a seat across from the beach blonde girl.

“Hey do you see that salad?” I asked.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you see that salad?”

She looked at the bowl of greens; the romaine lettuce arching upward, a mound of green beans marking its estate on one side, and a large square of corn bread balancing on the edge of the bowl.

“Yeah. . .” she said.

I pinched my lips and nodded agreeably.

“That’s a salad. . .”

She tilted her eyebrows upward and then began to laugh.

I was never really that interested in college girls.  I always preferred older women.  I always felt like younger girls couldn’t figure out who I was or how they felt around me.  Older women also couldn’t figure out who I was, but definitely were more sure about how they felt around me.

We used to play pool at Pappys.  On Thursday evenings, they used to sell pitchers of Rolling Rock for cheap and play a game on the television screen.  The food, although basic, was good.  On some weekends, the basement floor used to mutate into a club scene, catering to a college night-life.  I was never really that interested in that.

I’m not that interested in college.  I’m not interested in the people in college.  Anything college is not really my thing right now.

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