PORTLAND, OR — When Mr. Chet Fletcher walked into a local cocktail bar, the bartender gave this Sauce On the Side reporter (who was enjoying a leisurely seven drinks on their lunch break) a significant glance: a glance that said “this guy is going to be a total douche”. (At least I’m pretty sure that’s what it said. I was seven drinks deep at this point.) Chet Fletcher walked up to the bar and we looked him over. He had the thick mustache of a pedophile, the transition lenses of a 47-year-old father of three disappointing children, and a combover that he was trying way too hard to hide. The bartender greeted him, expecting an immediate “water”, but instead the man smiled pleasantly and asked how the bartender’s day was going. The bartender, my good friend Fred Douglas, was taken aback. “This guy actually acknowledged me as a human being,” he told me later as we both got wasted at his bar. Fred and Chet exchanged pleasantries before Chet ordered a dirty martini without asking for a dish of extra blue cheese olives. Then he pulled out his phone. Fred and I exchanged glances again, knowing he was probably about to start looking at porn inside the establishment. I leaned over surreptitiously on my barstool to take a peek, and to my surprise, Chet was merely reading an article about German Shepherds. He noticed me staring (as, slightly intoxicated, perhaps I wasn’t being as surreptitious as I thought I was), and simply nodded and smiled pleasantly at me before turning back to his drink. What is going on? Fred and I wondered. (At this point we were sharing a brain. It’s not weird.) Could this guy actually be. . .normal? Chet seemed to enjoy his drink and his German Shepherd article, made small talk with Fred, but not too much once he saw Fred getting busier, then asked for his bill and paid. Fred and I were shocked to see that he had tipped 20% in cash. We watched him as he walked to the host stand, said a cheerful goodbye to the host before thanking them, and exited the restaurant “Something weird is going on,” Fred said to me later after our fourth shot together while he was closing the bar. “I’ve never seen a guy come in here and be that chill.” I thought about telling Fred he should find a new place to work, but then I wouldn’t be able to drink for free during my work day. Instead, I nodded and started writing this article. I’m drunk so there may be misspellings, so please bare with me. Love you all, good night.the establishment’s name has been omitted to protect the identity of the writer, Doug.