When in Buffalo...

In Buffalo for the night, ergo wings were of paramount importance. I headed over to the little pub about a quarter-mile from the motel, sat down at the bar, and ordered a dozen to go. Bartender Barbie--very blond, very plastic, and I surmised very likely to be heading to a night job as an adult entertainer after her shift--raised an eyebrow and said, "A dozen? Hon, you can get 'em in 10, 20 or a bucket." (Can someone clue me in if decimal wings are the Buffalo custom? Canadian influence?) I ordered 10.

In Upstate N.Y., it seemed appropriate to grab a Genesee draft while I waited. Genny is the notoriously cheap suds my dad stocked in the fridge--and drinking it brought back memories of when I was a kid and he'd leave his glass on the steps while he was mowing the lawn, and I'd sneak a gulp or three.

Barbie and I made small talk while I waited for the wings. I learned that she'd grown up in Buffalo, she's of Polish descent and that Buffalo has the highest U.S. Polish population outside of Chicago. (Wikipedia indicates she's forgetting NYC.) Does she speak it? Enough to know that the slang for "grandma" translates as "nasty old hag." When I told her I was moving to Canada for the year, she cracked about how the weak Canadian dollar is killing dancer tips in town...and then immediately tried to backtrack by babbling about how the Canadian minimum wage is higher for waitresses, yadda yadda. But her smirk told me she knew that I knew.

Today was free of any record-holding religious artifacts or furniture, but holy crap a lot of cops--I'm guessing I saw upwards of 50 of 'em in 600-odd miles, particularly in Ohio-Pennsylvania-New York. It's close to the end of the month, gotta empty out those ticket books.