I was in Buffalo in 2016 and decided to grab lunch at the Anchor Bar, reputed to be the origin of “buffalo wings.” I arrived sometime between lunch and happy hour and the place was dead. Besides a female bartender, there were two women seated at a table, a dude at the bar, and myself; I sat a few seats away from the guy.
Well, some argument had obviously broken out between the guy and one of the women; I had apparently missed the original cause. But they kept making loud, lightly-veiled snide remarks about each other “to themselves.”
The guy was facing away from the table, but would say something like “man, I smell something nasty, seems like it’s coming from the other side of the room.” And the woman would continue talking to her friend, then occasionally ramp up the volume for the last few words of her sentence: “that bitch ass child, he know who he is.” And so forth.
I usually enjoy interacting with locals while traveling—it’s why I often eat at the bar instead of a table—but decided to mind my own business in this case. The bartender seemed to be avoiding the conflict as best she could, too.
Things continue for a while, and now they’ve both turned to face each other more easily, so the insults are coming much faster and the situation is heating up. The bartender leaves to go to the back, presumably to find some muscle to help deal with these now unruly customers. She’s gone for quite some time, which I found frustrating, as I just wanted to pay my bill and move on quickly. No need to get wrapped up in this and have to spend my vacation time giving police statements and such. I glance towards the backroom every 10 seconds, waiting for staff to remerge, then swivel to see what’s happening with the troublemakers. I stop eating because I don’t want to be here anymore (also, the wings were “meh.”)
The bartender finally returns, but there’s no one else to help. She apparently just went to get cleaning supplies or something. She tells the two to either quiet down or leave, but it seems clear she does not want to intervene beyond this. In support, I lodge a couple of my own loud complaints to the two, but they just blame each other and continue to escalate things.
I request my check and quietly ask her if she’s going to do something about it. She says something like “well, I told them to quiet down” and “I do not want to call the police.” She walked away before I could inquire why she refused to; it seemed like the obvious course of action, as this was trending towards a physical altercation.
So now I’m left wondering if I should leave right now since the restaurant isn’t going to head this off, or if I have a duty to stay and make sure the bartender stays safe, and likely cause myself unnecessary problems. By this point, the woman’s friend has seen the writing on the wall and quickly gets her purse and bolts, saying she’ll pay her back for the meal while she races towards the door. Not exactly a great sign; she was probably the only person who could calm the woman down.
The yelling intensifies. The woman has now stood up at her table, furiously gesticulating with her hands. And they are now arguing about something specific that had happened somewhere elsewhere. It’s a bit hard to follow what the issue was—they’re both mostly yelling over each other—but it sounds like this conflict started elsewhere, but in the recent past. I get the impression that they just accidentally found themselves in the same empty bar not long after this other unresolved conflict, and well, here we are.
While both are now standing a few yards from each other, angrily yelling at each other, I’m more worried about the woman attacking the guy. She seems far more violent and irate, and has been openly threatening him. The bartender has retreated to the back, again.
I’m now mentally considering what to do when violence breaks out. There’s still a table in between them, and I think I can push that chair over to block one path around it, and still have time to maybe do the same with an adjoining table to block the other? But what happens then? I’m the smallest of the three of us, but maybe I should just tackle one of them? Go low, wrap up the knees? Should I just call the cops right now? What does the bartender know about this that I don’t? Shit man, I just came here to say I had buffalo wings from the place that popularized them. This was not the experience I was looking for. I’ve got tourist stuff to be doing.
While I’m formulating and reformulating plans in my head, something happens. The woman mentions the name of someone during the argument, and the other guy dismisses it and calls it bullshit. They start arguing about whomever that person is, and…
…and…
…and…
I have no fucking idea how, but they simply SUDDENLY REALIZE that, well…
…that…
…they…
…are…
COUSINS.
Actual, blood relatives. First cousins. They start naming off their various family members to confirm.
Wait, wut. WTF just happened?
Big smiles immediately replace gnashed teeth and clenched fists. They finally take those three steps closer to each other and—in the most surprising twist I’ve ever experienced in person—they hug. They fucking hug!! And keep hugging, now slowly rotating back and forth like you might with your cherished spouse.
Now they’re asking about which picnics and family get-togethers each had attended, to see if they had both been there together. Oh, what about so-and-so’s wedding? And graduation last year? How’s your sister doing, I always liked her. Stuff like that.
It is just remarkable. The anger had vanished in an instant.
But I couldn’t help but forcibly and loudly interject: “YOU TWO ARE COUSINS?! ALL THAT AND YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE FUCKING COUSINS??? WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS!”
They start laughing, and while I continue my exasperated diatribe, they’re apparently just now realizing how crazy the whole thing was. They’re deeply laughing now, doubled over with an arm wrapped over each other’s shoulder. The woman is snorting and struggling to breathe.
Still dumbfounded, I wasn’t sure what to do. So I just…left. I went and sat quietly in my rental car in the parking lot for quite some time. I posted a short snapchat about what had happened. I wondered if I should go back in there and record a proper video, interview style with both of them, to mark this crazy occasion.
But…things had changed on a dime, so perhaps I don’t give them a chance to revert back just as quickly. So instead I drove off, en route to the site of President McKinley’s assassination, and then on to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.
I remained flabbergasted by the whole thing for the remainder of the day, even telling an abbreviated version of the story to the hotel desk clerk when I checked in that night. And I’m still flabbergasted while typing this, eight years later.
Webnotes
Lou’s post on Linkage finally prompted me to get around to posting this story.