In a Corner Booth

FIELD REPORT NO. 2015131IC

Topic: Whiskey Sours and my rich Uncle

Conditions: Perfect

Comments: Last week my uncle emailed me, letting me know he would be in Spokane and that he wanted to get dinner with my wife, sister, and me. Truthfully, I don’t know much about my uncle so I was excited to get a chance to ask him about himself. He is a man of singular principle. “When I began working at my company, 35 years ago, I didn’t have shit to my name.” He paused and smiled, “Now I got a lot of shit.”

We were sitting in a corner booth in Ruins, a new Tapas restaurant and cocktail bar. Over the course of the dinner, my uncle knew the bartender’s name, and was best friends with the people in the booth one over. He is the uncle that doesn’t come to family reunions, exercises religiously, was never married, rode harleys, bought porches in Switzerland, and never does anything that would make him feel uncomfortable. We could not be more different, and yet I loved him, even admired him. It’s his clarity.

He insisted on the extra rounds of whiskey sours (Kelly, the bartender, makes an incredible whiskey sour), he made sure we had eaten enough. As we were wrapping up and he was getting ready to pay, I thanked him for his generosity. “Are you kidding me? The company is paying for this!”