Don't know what confabulation means? Well look it up! Just google it.
O.K. Now that you know that, know this: I am the king of confabulation. I used to think I had a great memory. Then my sweet daughter Pamela went to college. She came home and taught me about confabulation. Now I have no idea whether my memory is very good or not. I do know that between my memory and confabulation, I can almost always come up with a story. I don't know if all geezers can do this, but it is stereotypical behavior at the very least.
O.K. So a bartender has a bit of trouble remembering how to make a cocktail. I decide I should tell a little story to make her feel more at ease. Here it is.
I am in a restaraunt in Socorro, New Mexico circa 1975. I am with my brother and his first wife. This is a Mexican food and beer sort of place, but by that time I have lived in California for a year and feel that I must display my sophistication. So I lift the little placard on the linoleum covered dinette table and see that a bottle of California wine can be had at only a slightly exorbitant price. Of course I order one. Our server delivers it to the table with three wine glasses. Alas, there is a problemo. The cork has not been removed. Que pasa? A cork? Such a thing has not been seen in this restaurant before. Quick el nino, run across to the liquor store and buy a cork screw. The boy returns with corkscrew and we all enjoy a fine, though perhaps dusty, bottle of wine.
Is this a true story? Maybe my brother, David can remember. If he can't, I have no way of knowing how much is real and how much is confabulation. Does it matter? I don't know. I just hope the story did actually put the bartender at ease.