This past Tuesday in Wichita, I made dinner reservations at a French bistro called George’s that half a dozen people said I simply had to try. I had skipped lunch that day because things were very busy over at WSU Tech, where I was meeting scholarship recipients and learning more about how our work ethic curriculum was being administered on campus. By 6:30 I was fairly famished and looking forward to a Steak au Poivre or two, but my reservation wasn’t till 8:30. As some of you may know, I’d agreed to swing by Total Wine at 7pm to shake a few hands, take a couple selfies, and sign a few bottles of my grandfather’s whiskey. I figured I’d be there for an hour or so, and then head over to George’s to break my unanticipated fast. When I arrived at Total Wine though, there were 600 people standing in line, waiting to say hello.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. Those 600 people in line weren’t just standing there; they were laughing, talking, and getting to know each other. It was like a giant block party, winding through the aisles of an enormous liquor store. Apparently, some people had been standing in line since four pm. I didn’t know this, of course, until they told me, but tell me they did. In fact, for the next 5 hours, I was told a great many things by a great many people who waited in that line with preternatural patience. People like Justin Grube, who just wanted to say thanks for the work ethic scholarship he received from mikeroweWORKS. If I recall, he told me he was going to be a heavy equipment mechanic. I wished him well and stood on my toes for a photo.
The Hopkins family hung around for over four hours because their kids – all six of them – had seen every episode of Dirty Jobs and had questions. Many, many questions. These kids were homeschooled and their parents – like lots of other parents – use Dirty Jobs as a teaching aid of sorts. I answered all of their questions, perhaps with a bit too much detail, and congratulated their parents on raising six kids with the wherewithal to stand in a line for nearly 5 hours without coming entirely unhinged.
Speaking of Dirty Jobs, I met a young woman who named her dog “Barsky,” after my former field producer.
“How is Barsky,” she asked.
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” I said. “But your dog looks just like him.”
Please tell him I love him,” she said.
“I’ll pass it on,” I said.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get her name, but I did meet a guy in a salmon colored polo shirt who introduced himself as “The Other Mike Rowe,” and gave me his driver’s license to prove it. Sure enough, he was Mike Rowe.
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s gotta be a pain in the ass.”
“Could be worse,” he said. “You could be a famous pedophile. Or a famous serial killer.”
“Well, stick around,” I said. “The night is young!”
The Other Mike Rowe laughed. “I’m actually proud to share my name with you,” he said. “I like what you stand for.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m not sure I’d stand in line to tell me so.”
“You would if you were Mike Rowe,” he said.
It was difficult to argue with his logic, so we took a photo and then Mike Rowe said, “I’ve been told by lots of people we look like brothers.”
“I can see that,” I said. “Too bad I didn’t wear my salmon-colored polo shirt. We’d be indistinguishable.”
“That would have been amazing,” Mike Rowe said. “Do you actually own one?”
“No, Mike Rowe,” said Mike Rowe. “I sure don’t.”
There was a great deal of facial hair on display last Tuesday, from full beards to fanciful goatees, along with a carefully-coiffed mustache from a guy who told me that my mother was a better writer than I was.
“You’re not wrong,” I said. “But where did you get her latest book? It’s not supposed to be on the shelves till the 15th.”
“Wichita Barnes and Noble,” he said. They’ve got it on display right out front. I think I got the first one. Then I came straight over here to get your grandfather’s whiskey.”
I have no idea how the Wichita Barnes and Noble got advanced copies of my mother’s book, but there’s a lot about Wichita that surprises me. Regardless, I autographed her book – quite possibly the first one to reach the general public – ‘Peggy Rowe’s Son.’ I then congratulated the man on his mustache, and his taste in literature.
There were so many others, with so many stories to share. Lots of people who worked in the trades, but many who didn’t. There were singers and artists and teachers and students and people who drove from out of state to get there, including a handsome young woman with a brand new engagement ring she really wanted to show me.
“Congratulations,” I said. “That’s a very pretty ring, for a very pretty lady. Your fiancé has excellent taste.”
“Oh, I bought the ring myself,” she said, “because I knew that you’d like it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yep! Now all you have to do is propose to me. I’ll say yes, and we can start making babies right away. How’s that sound?” Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was genuine. I honestly wasn’t sure if she was messing with me or not.
“Let me get through this line first,” I said. “There’s a lot of people waiting.”
“Of course,” she said. “Take your time. I’ll be in the parking lot.”
And so it went, for the next 5 hours. The reservation at Georges came and went, but I didn’t mind. Somebody in the line gave me half a cheeseburger, while others offered bags of peanuts and beef jerky, all of which I accepted, and all of which went surprisingly well with my grandfather’s whisky, which I had opened shortly after meeting my future ex-fiancé.
I will confess, at 10pm the line appeared to be no shorter than it was at 7pm, and I felt something like futility wash over me. The store had closed, but management agreed to stick around as long as I did, and there was no way I could leave without saying hello to people who had been waiting around all evening. But, if I’m being honest, I did briefly consider switching shirts with The Other Mike Rowe and paying him whatever he wanted to take my place for a while, but the moment passed. I did, however, replace myself with a lifelike cardboard cutout of yours truly while I hit the bathroom, though I’m sad to say that my cardboard presence did nothing to advance the line.
No, it was not the evening I’d planned, but I dare say, no matter how good the food might be a George’s, it can’t possibly trump The Wichita Line. Man! To say that I was flattered would be an understatement. And to say that I’ll be back sometime soon goes without saying.
Although next time, you’ll find me in the line at George’s…
PS. Total Wine Wichita is sold out, but they’re ordering more. Or, if you simply can’t wait, and want to taste what all the fuss is about, knobelspirits.com still has some in stock.