A funny thing happened on the way to sushi...

We walked along the Gaslamp district of San Diego. It was the evening dinner rush, and our group's first choice of restaurant, a bustling sushi place, had a wait which was too long to bear.

We walked along the sidewalk in somewhat of a daze, passing sights which had become familiar over the past week. Each restaurant in this area had an old-fashioned style gas lamp on their patios, which was a shock against the damp chill we felt as we walked along.

That's the Italian restaurant with the spooky, stalker-ish manager who paid slightly too much attention to our little group when we were there the first night.

Could that be the Tequila Bar? Is it possible that I found myself there at 1:00 AM listening to Reggae music and taking shots with Mike D.? I seem to remember dim neon lights, a friendly tattooed bartender who continually consulted the recipe card as she mixed our group's drinks--and a full-sized skeleton on a shelf 30 feet in the air who was wearing a Santa hat. Mike and I were outnumbered by guests from the Czech Republic--the more tequila we had, the better I understood those guys. The next morning, I was back to not getting a damn thing they were trying to tell me.

Another funny scene from the Tequila Bar: my new friend, Nate, and I, looking at bottles of tequila.

Nate (deadpan): "I have a feeling you and I are going to fight."

These flashbacks were entertaining, but our little band was still in search of sushi. I must explain that I know nothing about sushi--I am on the lazy side of remembering what things are called, and I tend to be always dependent on the people I am around to help me order. That's okay--I guess my brain is just operating at near-maximum capacity and I just can't retain that stuff. I'm not one of those radical people who craves sushi--I reluctantly agree to go along with it if that's what the group wants. Give me a good steak any day. I guess I'm still traumatized by the low-quality fish sticks they used to give us in school.

After our first choice was deemed unacceptable, we went to a restaurant just 100 feet away. We looked inside and there was absolutely no one inside. Something was wrong. We looked at the menu and, in addition to sushi, they had random entrees like Beef Stroganoff and Baloney Sandwiches. As we stood reading the menu, the hostess came outside and begged us to come inside. One of the more cocky members of our party asked "I don't mean to be rude, but why is your restaurant completely empty?"

The hostess was taken back a little at first, then her shoulders slumped and she answered "I don't know. the food is good." Then she went back inside. We all looked at each other and wordlessly agreed to get away fast. As we got to the corner, two ladies stood pointing in the air. They were clearly alarmed.

I turned and saw two very large rats making their way along a ridge in the architecture of the building. They were not in a hurry, but they certainly seemed to know where they were going. They might have been one hundred feet away, and thirty feet in the air, but I could see whiskers on the rats as they peeked over the corner of the building. They looked friendly, like pets.

I turned and looked at the ladies again, and felt like I was in one of those cheesy Godzilla movies that I used to watch when I was in second grade. By now, a small group had gathered and watched the rats wandering along the ledge. The ladies were agape and silent and seemingly frozen in position of pointing at the rats, incredulous. I could see people through the windows right behind the rats carrying on without seeing them. Thirty feet below, along the street below the rats, unsuspecting pedestrians bustled along the sidewalk.

I remember feeling pretty good about our decision to leave the restaurant--the rats were going away from that weird restaurant, too.

We went ahead and enjoyed our sushi and had a great evening together. It's funny what comes to your attention when you keep your eyes open and maintain a sense of humor.