A Sucker for a Good Story

Let’s just say that in addition to the Thrasher’s game yesterday, my day involved beer and a lot of wishing that I was closer to a restroom. And a LOT of walking. I’m actually a little sore from walking at a rather quick pace from Max Lager’s on the 300 block of Peachtree Street to the far end of Piedmont Park and then back to the closest MARTA station about ¾ mile. It totaled about four miles of walking and if I were just taking it easy and strolling, I’m find today. I actually didn’t feel tired yesterday at any point, but when I walk by myself and know where I’m going, I tend to go faster and faster until I get to the point where if I were walking any faster, I’d roll into that waggling-hipped stride of the competitive speed walkers. I avoid that. I’m much too manly. Still, all of that long striding ended up making the muscles at the tops and sides of my thighs pretty sore today.

By the way, if you’re in Atlanta, stop by Piedmont Park on the 10th Street side and park your butt in the patio of Park Tavern and sip on one of the house brews while overlooking the park and Atlanta skyline. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful setting for any restaurant or bar in Atlanta, and the brewpub’s beer finally matches. In the past their offerings were milder and the bar was geared more to slightly upscale lounge flies and the fact they made beer was kind of pushed to the side. They don’t even advertise their own beer in their radio ads. They also were having quality control issues a few years ago the last time I visited so I’d stopped going at all. Recently, I found out that they’d hired a new brewer and I knew I was going to make a day of wandering downtown and midtown Atlanta before the Thrashers game, so I made a plan to include Park Tavern on my itinerary. I’d heard some rumors of improvement so I decided to check it out. I’m glad I did. All of the regular brews were markedly improved. The brewer there told me that he’d been working on gradually modifying the recipes to make the beers bolder without shocking the regulars and scaring them off the beer. The IPA at Park Tavern is quite possibly my new favorite IPA. I’ll be heading back there more often now that I know it’s worth it.

Just let me finish up this post by saying that I love bums. Usually when asked for money, I’ll just say I don’t carry cash (and I’m usually not even lying) and keep walking, but I have to admit that I’m a sucker for a really elaborate story. I don’t go in for the my-car-broke-down-and-I’m-trying-to-get-enough-money-to-get-back-home, but I am impressed with creativity and I have been known to toss a dollar or pocket change for a well-crafted sob story. For example, I was approached by a guy yesterday while waiting for the bus who told me that the buses usually just fly past it because it’s a new and rarely used stop. I figured he was probably making it up, especially when he offered to take me to the nearby hub where they were guaranteed to stop, but I wasn’t in a hurry and I was willing to play along. He then proceeded to supply me with a constant, non-stop rat-a-tat-tat of storytelling that kept me entertained for the first six or seven blocks. According to his story, he’d been off working in Savannah (I think he modified his stock story when I told him I was from south Georgia and I applaud his sense of audience) and had been sending money back to family members in Atlanta who’d apparently misappropriated the funds he’d been sending back (because his aunt got better rates on car insurance so he had her insuring his car and paying her). He then got into an argument with said family members and they kicked him out of the house after all that interfamily embezzlement. To raise money to get some interviewing clothes and a shower and shave, he said he was guiding tourists around town in exchange for tips.

Lucky for him, I’d had to pay for my $5 Breeze Ticket for my MARTA trips with a $20 and the stupid MARTA things gives change in dollar coins, so I had $15 in large gold-colored coins. My pants were freaking heavy! I was glad to hand over a couple of them in exchange for the story and the balls to be relatively nicely dressed and still claim to be “rolling dirty”. I salute you Mr. Panhandler man, even though I know you probably weren’t going to buy bologna, a loaf of bread and ramen noodles at the grocery story down the way.

Actually I guess it was more lucky for him that he wasn't a real bum. Most of those poor guys are just crazy and don't have the network of family and friends to help them out like most of us do. I mean there was no foul odor, weird mutterings, or giant urine stain in the front of his pants like that one guy in the KFC on West Peachtree I saw once.