Simply put, Special K and I really dig the No Malice Palace (NMP). It's the kind of weird, dark, slightly scary bar where anything is possible and the regulars are one-of-a-kind.One night a self-proclaimed lobster salesman did the worm right through the door before running up the wall in a curious combination Flashdance/Spiderman style and then promptly grabbing a seat, as if nothing had happened, to order a beer. Another night, a scrawny but decidedly strong dude, who apparently is a semi-regular, darted up to the side window to "taunt" Ron the bartender—a bold move, this, as Ron is, for lack of a better term, one big, bad-assed mofo. Ron said to me, "Go get him!" (not expecting me to obey), but I took off like a shot, sprinted out onto the sidewalk and said, "You wanna GO?" with my arms wide, to the tall, fair-skinned, curly haired guy. He walked toward me with a straight face, threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and walked with me dangling in mid-air and laughing hysterically for an entire block before walking me back into the bar and setting me back down, proclaiming, "Okay. Off you go."
Ron is my favorite bartender at the NMP because he always throws me around like we're swing dancing, or lifts me up at my waist like a ballerina, which is not as easy as it sounds because I'm 5'9". He is also my favorite because he's hilarious and an absolute doll, and is usually wearing a goofy Marvel Comics-inspired T-shirt. He can also rock an Afro like nobody's business, and has a very healthy appreciation for the snack-food wonder that is nachos with guacamole.
Ron has a younger brother, Jeff, who is a spitting image of Ron—except he's about 5 inches shorter and proportionally smaller. He also tends to dress a touch more metrosexually than Ron (see aforementioned comic book T-shirt reference). Special K had met Jeff way back, and dubbed him "Lowercase Ron" due to his truly uncanny likeness to his big brother, but I had never met him until a couple of weekends ago.
That night Special K and I had entered and exited the NMP no fewer than three times. We kept attempting to find somewhere new to go, but nowhere else could hold our interest for more than 30 minutes, so we kept heading back to where all the magic happens. The fourth time we went back to the NMP, around 2:30 a.m., Ron was standing outside, wearing a snazzy get-up and a cool lid. I had never seen Ron wearing a hat of any kind—much less a fully coordinated ensemble like this—and so I approached him, shouting, "Whoa! Look at YOU!" Special K immediately caught what was about to go down and swatted me on the shoulder. "No, no, no! That's not Ron!" she said. "That's LOWERCASE Ron. Remember I told you about Lowercase Ron?"
"OH SHIT!" I exclaimed, cracking up. "I was thinking, 'Hmmm, that's weird...when did he go home and change? And why? And does he usually wear lifts behind the bar?' "
Jeff a.k.a. "Lowercase Ron," being the good sport and absolute sweetheart that Special K said he was (again, like his brother), was gracious about the confusion, and proceeded to spin me around the dance floor 'til the wee hours of the morning. He even humored me by participating in a silly Matador dance when Ron was trying to drive the remaining patrons out by playing his bullfighting music, letting me charge headfirst, nostrils a-flarin', at his invisible cape, after which he jokingly asked for my hand in marriage.
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