O P I N I O N
NOT THAT PROFOUND
By Nathan Graziano
After weighing my vacation plans, comparing them to my financial ledgers, I decided to spend my Winter Break this year hanging out at Chelbys each afternoon, drinking draft beer with The Lunch Crowd, a group of friends who I rarely get to see these days due to my work schedule.
But then, on Monday, New Hampshire went into a panic mode and almost every business in The Queen City—including Chelbys—was closed, anticipating a blizzard1.
So my wife and I stayed home and decided to start watching a show on Hulu. I’d rather not disclose its title, for it is a show entirely outside of my demographic, and as a grown-ass man of my age, I probably shouldn’t be as enthralled by it, or its college-aged characters, as I currently am.
For nine straight hours on Monday, my wife and I strapped ourselves to the couches in the living room and watched dorm-fueled dramas unfold.
Flash forward to Tuesday.
On Tuesday afternoon, while I was completely not obsessed with whether or not one of the main characters in the show was a sociopathic douche, or why one of the show’s heroines continued to engage in this toxic relationship—unless, of course, she was equally terrible and manipulative; otherwise, tell me, Lucy, why do you continue to sleep with this asshole?—I shoveled out of the driveway and headed to Chelbys to hang out with The Lunch Crowd at noon.
Make no mistake here, folks, if my employment afforded me the opportunity to comport with the Lunch Crowd at Chelbys every weekday—excusing sickness or bereavement—I would be as punctual as a traffic light.
As I walked into Chelbys, at noon on Tuesday, I noticed my friend Toby sitting at a table in the back of the lounge, making an indecent gesture at me. This led me to believe that Toby—as well as the other good guys in The Lunch Crowd—had no objection to me joining their table.
You see, I know many of The Lunch Crowd from my summers, where I can frequent these convivial daytime gatherings. And the Lunch Crowd is different from the evening and night-time patrons.
The Lunch Crowd is its own brethren; for no one needs to disclose why they’re at a bar during a time slot traditionally dedicated to the conventional 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. employment. No one cares why you’re there, and it is no one’s business away.
The Lunch Crowd also tends to be an older demographic, people who may have the luxury of retirement and decided that there is no really good reason to stay up past 11 p.m. anymore, unless it is duly required, so the 5 p.m. cocktail gets pushed a few hours.
Or some of The Lunch Crowd could work third shifts. Or maybe they’re people who make their own schedules and can slip a sly middle finger at those of us who cannot. Or maybe there is another reason they’re part of The Lunch Crowd and—guess what?—it’s no one’s damn business.
The Lunch Crowd also seems to socialize with a breeziness that you don’t see after people get off work, pissed off and still seething anout something that happened at work, vapor still rising from their ears about an email sent before they left work.
The Lunch Crowd, I’ve decided, are my people, my crowd. I mean, it doesn’t take a lot of creativity to drink on a Friday or a Saturday night—although never turn your back on Friday night. But having drinks at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday takes a certain esprit de vive.
So I spent my week off hanging out with The Lunch Crowd, and without apology. I left at 3 p.m. each day then went home to work on some writing then watch…
Fine, I’m watching “Tell Me Lies” on Hulu, and it completely aligns with my penchant for books and films that fall more into my 22-year-old daughter’s demographic, as opposed to the kind of media that would typically appeal to a 50-year-old married man, a man eager to be a member of The Lunch Crowd at Chelbys.
However, when I return to work on Monday, awaking at an obscene hour in an attempt to teach somnolent adolescents at 7;30 a.m.—Start time is largely due to the fact that American high schools continue to ignore a clear body of research—I’ll continue to hold The Lunch Crowd friends close to my heart.
Unlike that sociopath Stephen DeMarco2 on “Tell Me Lies.” That guy is the worst.
- In fairness, it was an historic storm, by no uncertain terms, but—for once—it didn’t really cripple us here in New Hampshire. As a sidebar, my family in Rhode Island were hit with more than three-feet of snow, burying (pun-intended) the former record, which was the Blizzard of ’78. I was there for that one, but I was 3 years old and don’t recall a lot of it. ↩︎
- Certainly not my paisan. ↩︎