Call Me Shelly (1): Fly on the Wall

You hear it all the time.

An expression.

If only I could have been a fly on the wall.

You know, silently and secretly observing something from afar.

A spy with wings.

Well, here's your chance, sort of.

Imagine this.

You are a fly on the wall.

The wall of a bar named the Elbow Room in Bismarck, North Dakota.

It's downtown in Bismarck proper, near the railroad tracks.

The year is 1994, and it's almost closing time on Sunday, July 31st.

Actually, it's after midnight, almost 1 a.m., early Monday, August 1st.

All day long, you have buzzed around the bar and all day long, music.

You've heard Crazy by Aerosmith six times and all those other artists over and over again.

Janet Jackson, Elton John, Mariah Carey.

Earlier in the evening, the Minnesota Vikings lost their preseason opener against last season's Super Bowl champs, the Cowboys.

But now the Elbow Room bar has grown quiet.

You buzz around and watch the bartender as she tidies up the place before closing.

And there are four other people in the Elbow Room.

Two male customers sitting at the bar and two women, blackjack dealers, off in the corner wrapping things up for the night.

One of the women grabs her purse, says goodnight, and heads out the door, while the other woman walks across the room and seats herself near the two men.

She orders a drink, specifically a Colorado Bulldog, and soon she strikes up a conversation with the two men.

And then for another 15 minutes or so, while the bartender continues to prepare for closing, you buzz around and watch as the woman and the two men sit there talking, drinking and talking.

Yeah.

Yeah, class is really hard today.