You accompany Claire to the bathroom

You tell her you'll come with her just to keep her company. You just wanted to see what she'd say. You aren't sure at this point whether you're actually interested in her, or if you're just being polite because she's your friends' friend, but sitting at a table by yourself doesn't seem like a particularly good use of your time, either. Generally not having to wait in line for the bathroom at a bar is probably a good example of that "male privilege" you hear about every now and again, and sure enough when you reach the back of the bar, there is a queue nine people deep for the women's bathroom, vs. no line at all for the men's. You and Claire make small talk as you wait in line. You get the odd glance as you're clearly standing in line for the women's bathroom, but for the most part it isn't as awkward as you might have thought.

"I fucking love this song," Claire comments.

You can't really hear the band too well from this part of the bar, but it sounds like they've tried to pick up the mood a bit with a lackluster rendition of Taking Care of Business.

"Ah, TCB by BTO," you say. "My favorite acronym by an acronym."

"My parents were big BTO fans," Claire remarks. "The Guess Who, too. My dad used to always say it's because he was a Canadian guy who fell for an American woman. Of course, the relationship in that song I don't think worked out so well."

Claire dances in place to the music. Or, maybe it's just her "I really have to pee" dance. You do notice that as she gets into a bit of a groove, she's brushing up against you more and more as you wait in line.

"Do you know that song? American Woman?" she asks with interest.

All you really remember of the song is the massive, soaring guitar riff it opens with. Soaring, like you, in your dreams - it dawns on you that until this very moment, you hadn't thought about that strange, recurring dream all evening.

"Hey, Earth to Henry!" Claire calls. "Are you still with us, the living?"

You pull yourself back to reality. You think to yourself that you know the Lenny Kravitz version a little better, but you have the distinct impression that that is the wrong thing to say in this moment. Instead you try to think of something to say about the Guess Who original, clearly more of what Claire wants to talk about. Again, all you can picture is Randy Bachman's guitar and that soaring intro, soaring like your dreams. Dammit, Henry, you scold yourself. Wake up or no more beer for you!

"Yeah, I like the guitar," you finally manage. "It's a classic."

"Nobody plays like that any more," Claire opines. "Really, once you get past, like, 1979 or something, the only good music was all the underground stuff. There is no good mainstream music since like 1980."

You feel like she's discounting a lot of great bands in there. You'd have really thought a girl in a metal shirt would have at least liked herself some Dio or Maiden. You were about to say something in defense of such juke box heroes as Van Halen or Motorhead when you noticed that you had moved were getting closer to the bathroom door. You supposed you'd be parting company soon. You're vaguely aware that Claire has been talking to you while you had this train of thought.

"Nowadays the only bands I can even listen to are all the weird ones," Claire says. "Like these guys on my shirt. Have you ever heard Melechesh? I don't know a whole lot of other bands that sound like them."

You remark that you haven't heard of them, and are about to ask what exactly they play, but the bathroom door in front of you opens. A short, slender young woman walks out with a look of embarrassment on her face.

"I'm so, so sorry," she quietly says to Claire.

You can see why. Or rather, you can smell it. A foul smell wafts from the slowly-closing women's bathroom door. Even in a crowded bar full of people, the smell assailing you overpowers everything. You're not sure whether it was Murphy's hot wings or the loaded cheese fries or what, but that woman definitely ate something tonight she should not have.

"I can't go in there," Claire says, gagging. "It smells like something died."

"And then something ate it and puked it up," you add.

"And then something ate that, and then died," she says.

You don't often see someone laugh and almost throw up at the same time, but you were both just about there.

"Should I use the men's room, do you think?" Claire asks. "Would you watch the door for me?"

Sure enough, there is no line for the men's room, and you haven't seen anyone go in or out for the last little while. It looks like the coast is clear.