This past Saturday began as most of my Saturdays do.

I brushed the nighttime deadness out of my mouth. I took my dog for a walk.  I checked my stash of bottled water to determine if I needed to replenish my supply. I cleaned my kitchen counter while I played the cable show Say Yes to the Dress In the background.

I was expecting to hear from my friend Rocco, who was visiting from California for the week. He was traveling with a buddy and staying at an Air B’n B closer to downtown.

Capable of finding fun and interesting things to do on Mars, if he landed there, when we talked the day before, I found out that he had already been to the Sinfonietta, saw a set of progressive jazz at The Hideout, and copped a good seat to see Hamilton for under a hundred bucks.

Having a short window to get together before his Sunday departure, I agreed to meet him at a club and bar in the Logan Square area, a good meeting in the middle location.  I saw from an online blurb that Cole’s actually had live music.

OMG. Talk about out of place — I was like a Pentecostal pastor at a B’nai B’rith dance party.

I went through the perfunctory indignity of having my driver’s license reviewed at the door.  Then, I tried to get the bartender’s attention.  He was a gentle giant of a man; easily forty pounds overweight and bearded.

I was invisible to him for several minutes.  When I did get the chance to talk to him about a drink order, he seemed genuinely apologetic.

Do you have Bombay or Tanqueray? I asked, still thinking it was end of summer and a gin & tonic would be in order

He looked at his shelves although he already knew the answer.  When I decided beer was a safer choice and ordered a Stella, he quietly asked, Can okay?

I took out my phone to check texts and found out that my friend and his travel buddy were running late.  I Immediately wanted to slip my phone back into my purse; an iPhone 5C.  a dinosaur in smart phone terms.

To be honest, I felt a little like a fossil myself.

When the band started, the bar area cleared out and I found a small table by the wall.  Because I really didn’t know the area very well, I had no thoughts about alternative meeting places.

I was out – in the world.

Out of my neighborhood and my routines.

Out of my comfort zone.

An over-served man in his twenties sat down across from me at my table.  We both understood his move was more about him needing to sit down than it was about wanting to interact.

In lieu of any meaningful conversation, he just smiled – continuously.  Eventually, he offered that his name was Derrick.

I spent a lot of time reading the graffiti on the peeling brown wall next to me.  I saw phone numbers and lovers’ names, like you’d see carved in a tree, underneath a heart shape and FOREVER promise.

I saw a cartoon man, drawn with a cartoon penis — super-sized.

Yes, it was hard, at times, to explore the scribblings on the wall then look up to see Derrick smiling wordlessly.

I saw an 8 1/2” x 11” poster for a lip syncing event at the bar later in the month.  LOOSE LIPS.

I laughed at the idea that I might have seen such a poster at Augenblick or The Snuggery or Quencher’s when I was in my 20s.

I wasn’t crazy about the band, but I enjoyed watching the parade.  A slightly older than average group of guys, in unfashionably loose-fitting jeans, stood ever so close to the bar, as if they would implode if they found themselves too far from their next beer.

Some girls bounced back and forth between the bar area and the music area, unconscious how attractive they were.  And other girls after, I imagine, spending a lot of time preparing to go out, obviously, didn’t get the memo about highlighting their best features regardless of what style is trending.

And then my friend showed up, maybe 90 minutes after I had arrived.  We said good-bye to Derrick and headed down the street to a quieter place to talk and drink grown-up libations.

I survived my evening OUT.  The value of going out of my comfort zone was reaffirmed.

Putting yourself out of your comfort can lead new discoveries, or, at minimum can remind you that things are generally temporary, that discomfort is passing.  What is essential can’t be lost.

Going to a bar where you’re the only person over sixty is no small thing.