On not being that guy

I had an appointment to meet a colleague for lunch at noon, but we had to move it up to 11:00 a.m. He was on the verge of retirement and I was just starting out, so he asked to meet so he could give me a bit of advice. We slid into our seats, the waitress came around, and the pastor ordered a scotch. I burst out laughing, because I thought he was joking. Presbyterians often banter about scotch, so I thought this was part of that ongoing joke. Then I looked up at the waitress, who was dutifully writing down his order. It wasn’t a joke. In fact, I could tell he had done this before. She had done this before. This was a regular thing.

He sighed, winked, and mumbled, “Hair of the dog.”

I hummed, nodded my head, and looked down at my menu so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him.