orN kiYt Cewy (New York City Randomness)

Every now and then, something truly, remarkably random happens to reaffirm my love for this city.

Last night, I went to the East Village with some friends to grab dinner and scope out some bars for my upcoming birthday. Our walk eventually led us to Alphabet City, and as we made our way up toward the next bar on our list, we passed by an extremely divey sort of place. Heeding little attention, we kept walking for a few steps.

“Hey,” said Sachin, the eagle eyes of the group, as he paused to look back at a sign on the sidewalk. “I think this place has all-you-can-drink Bud Light for $5. Let’s check it out.”

“No way,” said Evan, who somehow seemed to know about this bar. “It’s a country bar. We should not have the party here.”

“No, not for the party. Let’s just go in to get some cheap beer,” said Rishi, the voice of reason.

“Whatever,” said I, too lazy to care.

We made our way into the bar (Doc Holliday’s), and ordered up a round of beers. The place had a western feel. The wood decor had an old, weathered appearance to it, and the whole place, from the stools to the bathrooms, felt a little saloon-y. A few people were sitting around the bar (some in cowboy hats), while a jukebox in the back played an assortment of old, honky-tonk tunes. It was very “cowboy” (or as cowboy as cowboy can get in Manhattan).

Silence

Halfway through our second beers, the jukebox cut out mid-song. A rather large fellow in full Scottish regalia walked to the center of the bar carrying a set of bagpipes.

SLAP!

With a swift whack to his airbag, the man broke out into some sort of Scottish tune (it sounded like the national anthem, but then again, it all sounds the same to me). All heads turned in his direction to watch him play, some in bewilderment, some in amazement. One guy even started talking pictures.

CLOMP, CLOMP

Our heads spun back around. The bartender was now standing on the bar. She was wearing cowboy boots. Not the type of cowboy boots you’d expect at a bar like this, but the type of silver, shiny boots a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader would wear. As the bagpiper continued to bagpipe, she broke out into a dance on the bar involving a mix of stomping her feet, tap-dancing, clapping her hands, and spinning around. Line dance? Not so much. More of a ‘jig’.

Silence

The bagpiper finished his song. The bartender hopped down off the bar. After a quick round of applause, everyone returned to their drinks. The jukebox picked up where it had left off. Within a matter of seconds, everything went back to the way it was. It was like nothing happened.

God I love this city.