My friend deposited me at the bar of our favorite cidery and left to attend her prior engagement at a bourbon tasting. Paula Nicewanger, co-owner of this publication, told me that she would pick me up after the tasting had ended. I walked into the cidery and the was told by the general manager that all the tables had been reserved but there were still a few seats at the bar. I told him that my partner-in-cidery was not going to be coming for at least another hour, so no need to reserve a seat. I took the first available stool and settled in. In short order, one of the servers asked me to move over to allow her to seat two others, and I did so. The server asked again if my friend Paula was coming, and I reiterated that she would be delayed. The woman next to my new seat assured me that she would be leaving in an hour and if necessary, Paula could have her seat. I moved over and settled in, and my new seatmate stood up and moved around me to get my Timbuk2 messenger bag, which she handed to me, then moved my jacket from the back of my previous seat and draped it across my new one.
I turned toward the kind woman and introduced myself, thanking her for her thoughtfulness in helping me to remember my baggage. When she turned her bespectacled eyes toward me and smiled, I saw a drift of sparkles below her eyes and across her cheeks. She told me her name and when I jokingly asked if she could play basketball, she laughed. “My name is spelled ‘Caitlan.’ But Caitlin Clark was at the concert.” Slow on the uptake, I realized that the cidery was packed with the bonus runoff from the Taylor Swift “Eras Tour.” I swiftly sent a text to my bourbon-tasting friends telling them that there would be no room at the inn: The Swifts had landed.
Caitlan, my NBF (new best friend) was in town from San Diego; she had attended the Friday November 1st concert, which coincided with her birthday. As we chatted, I found that we had more in common than just cider. I told her that I had a good friend who lived in San Diego; she told me that her family was originally from Maryland, where my mother’s family lived. Caitlan also spent time in Alaska, and I noted that my niece had been stationed in Alaska when she was in the Army; we laughed about the Alaskan cars that had core-heating plugs dangling from the front of the grille. Caitlan had a bright laugh and a friendly mien, and she worked her way through a flight of cider while she awaited the arrival of the Uber that would take her to the airport. In the time that she spent in Indianapolis, she had also visited Kilroy’s, the District Tap and King Street; she found the cidery on a “Visit Indy” online site.
As Caitlan bent to stuff her “Eras” box of cider into her luggage, cider that she planned to share with her friends at home, I worried that she would not be able to take the cans onto the airplane. But she stood up and donned a pink top hat, the perfect complement to her sequin-studded smile. I bid her “adieu,” our “Swift Connection” established. When Paula came back to pick me up, I told her of my new friend, and the joy I had in sharing a counter with a Swifty.
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