Last night I walk in to Half King to sit at the bar, read my book, and have a burger. I ask a guy if the empty seat next to him is taken. He says, “I’m meeting a friend.” I take the empty seat on the opposite side of him. About 10 minutes later, as I’m eating my burger and staring into space, the guy’s “friend” arrives.
The young woman says, “You look different from your photo.”
He mumbles something.
“No, in your photo you have longer brown hair.” The guy has closely cropped gray hair under a baseball hat.
Mumble.
“I’ve met a lot of people over the years. That’s not you in the photo. Your face is different.”
Mumble. Awkward silence. I’m trying to hold back a laugh. I think he offers her a drink. She plays with her phone, clearly deciding what to do.
“Who’s photo is that? Do they know you’re using their photo? I can’t believe someone would misrepresent themself like that . . . you know what? I’m just gonna go. I can’t believe this.”
She storms out. He sits there for a few more minutes with his drink. He leaves, I laugh.
