Half Naked Sports Bars in NYC

Grabbing his suit coat from the back seat and flinging it over his shoulder, we headed for the parking garage elevator, which would whisk us to the 44^th floor restaurant with expansive city views. The Everest Room was way out of our league but it was our first anniversary after all.

Just as the elevator doors began opening, my husband straightened his tie and put on the coat. A confused look crossed his face as the sleeves fell down to his fingertips. Looking closely at his coat, then the pants and back.

“Honey, they don’t match,” I said.

“Obviously, this isn’t my suit coat,” he said as we headed in for our reservation.

“The cleaners probably screwed it up.”

Sipping our glass of wine, reminiscing about the past year and slightly melancholy we weren’t technically “newlyweds” anymore, we dug through the coat pockets looking for clues.

Voila! Inside the breast pocket was a small stack of business card…in Japanese! My husband is not small and these coat sleeves were 4 inches too long for him. It must belong to the world’s tallest Japanese man.

I turned the card over in my hand and read the translation.

“This coat belongs to Bob McCarthy, Marketing Director, Waldorf Astoria, New York City. How in the world would you have a suit coat belonging to someone from New York?”

“I was in New York two weeks ago visiting clients. Remember?”

“I remember but how would you have his coat?”

“Well, my customers wanted to go to a particular sports bar after dinner. It had half court basketball. I played two-on-two against this really tall guy. We had our coats off. Must have switched them on the way out. I’ll call him tomorrow to see if he has mine.”

“What sports bar?” I asked since I was travelling to New York a lot as well.

“Just this popular place they wanted to go.”

“So what’s it called?”

“Scores, I think.”

“You think? SCORES is the one Howard Stern talks about all the time on the radio. The waitresses have huge boobs and they're naked from the waist up.”

“Yeah, that one. You’re going to New York in a few weeks. Maybe you could stop by the Waldorf and swap coats for me.”

“So you want me to return a coat you accidentally switched at a strip club while you were looking at boobs?”

“It's not a strip club. I hardly noticed the boobs. We were playing basketball.”

“Okaaaay. Set it up and I’ll decide if I can make time.”

Two weeks later, I walked into a strange man’s office to exchange my husband’s suit coat, which he absentmindedly swapped at a half naked sports bar.

“So where'd the mix up happen anyway?” I nonchalantly asked the tall guy.

“Some corner sports bar. I’m so happy to have it back. So is my wife!”

It was then I realized I wasn’t a newlywed anymore and I was okay.

My husband tells the truth.

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