One day just behind the unread "closed" sign.

Brewer Jared Williamson and I share a recurring joke about how we can't understand non-readers, seeing as neither of us can drive down the road without reading every sign we see.

All of them. We just can't help it.

There were having team meetings today at the Bank Street Brewhouse, which is closed on Mondays. As we proceeded with discussions, there were periodic arrivals of people unaware of the operating hours, and that's fine. We're just starting. A few of them paused to read the sign that explains our hours. Others pushed on the door, which was locked for the most part, but once or twice was unlatched. The Monday closing would be politely explained to them, and accompanying questions answered. Most of the time this was sufficient.

At around 3:00 p.m., with the door unlocked because of someone's smoke break outside, a smartly dressed older couple reeking of affluence pushed through. One of the servers explained matters, and the woman was taken aback, saying that as out of towners, it had been hard to find us, but they had to come after the newspaper article in the Courier-Journal on Saturday - "the food looked so good in the picture."

They asked if there was a good place to eat nearby, and we said "La Rosita's" in unison; the best Mexican in the area.

"We don't eat Mexican food."

Uh huh. You're losing points fast, lady.

With the Windsor open only for lunch, the best alternative was Studio's, and I told them so, adding that it surprised me that the Saturday C-J article didn't have the business hours. Of course, I knew it did.

"Well, we didn't actually read the article," she replied.

Or call the phone number.

At this point, I'd lost interest. You drive out of the way because of a photo, perhaps noting the headline alone, and then what? Driving down every street until there wwas a banner so large that it couldn't be missed?

Then he looked at her and said, "Why don't we eat at Penn Station instead?"

Candid Camera, anyone? Is this my payback for bad karma?

I considered saying something like this:

"I can't help noticing that you're fairly well off. How exactly did you manage that? Did you inherit it, or did you come up with a way to fleece people dumber than you?"

Because I'm masquerading as an adult, I refrained. It wasn't easy, but at least we didn't have to try and recommend beers to them.

White Zinfandel, anyone?