Sometimes it only takes one word to bring back a memory. This time it took two: Bloody Mary.
My father always took me out to lunch when I was in any sort of trouble as a kid. His logic? That's easy; who's going to throw a temper tantrum in public.
I was older at this point, but in trouble nonetheless. And as I was "of age", our 'lunches' often took place sitting at the bar of some local establishment.
I guess I sensed that I was in a particular pickle at this point so I decided to order a bloody mary. My dad followed suit, but added to the young bartender that he would like his with extra character. (My father meant extra horseradish.)
We watched with greater and greater curiosity as the young man opened cabinets, looked under counters and moved bottles around. Finally he sheepishly returned to our end of the bar and said, "I'm very sorry sir, but I don't seem to have any Character."
Submitted for Sunday Scribblings.