Chapter 17: Origins-Finding Yoda

A/N: When a chapter is labeled "origins" this means that it shows you a defining part in Oliver's life as he becomes the character that we first saw when the story began. It's as simple as that. Just so everyone understands.

October 1999

A week later, I was walking up to the place. The paper was a list of instructions on what to do at the address, which was at the top of the list. It was a bowling alley on 87th. All I knew was the address, so this was confusing for me. Some great teacher of bartending, working here? I guess so. Time to find the Yoda from here.

I walked in with the list of instructions that Carl gave me. Half of what they were looked like total bullshit phrases. But I walked down the stairs into the bowling alley. It looked like any other bowling alley, nothing special about it. But as I realized soon enough, a lot of what I have seen is not as it appears.

I walked up to the bowling counter. A lady sat at the counter. After seeing her, I realized that this should have been my first clue that the whole place was out of whack. She was a spry lady, with glasses that made her eyes look as big as tennis balls. She scared me a bit, and some of my friends laughed at me when I said that she did, but if they saw her, they would take it back.

"What do you want, boy?" She snarled.

I jumped. "Um," I looked at the list. "I'm here to play bowling?" I was confused that I was reading it right. I was here to learn how to serve drinks, not to bowl.

"Good." She said. She took a long drag on a cigarette, and started asking for my info.

"Name?"

"Oliver Blake."

"Where do you want to bowl, dearie?"

I looked at the list again. "I'd like to bowl," I paused. I looked closer at the list, trying to make sure I was still reading it right. "With Mr. Miyagi?" I said, puzzled.

The lady at once, looked at me much nicer. "He's in his office, dear." She said, sweetly. "Just make sure to knock."

She pointed me to a door behind her. I headed past the front counter, and walked in. I stood at the top of another set of stairs. These ones were under much dimmer lighting than I was used to; I tripped twice on my way down, lucky enough not to fall.

Finally, I got to the door. A red 'Exit' sign glowed faintly above the door. I opened it, and creeped in.

It looked like an abandoned bar. None of the lights were on, and the only light that came into the bar came from the street level windows, close to the ceiling of the room. All the stools at the bar except for one were placed upside down on the counter. The one exception stood at the far end on the floor. As well as the stools at the bar, all the other chairs around the whole bar were set upside down on the tables.

"Where the hell is this teacher?" I muttered. "I'm here for no apparent reason except that someone wanted to drag me into a Nightmare on Elm Street. I'm just waiting for Freddy to slash my throat."

Then I thought, to hell with this, no one is here, I'm here to learn bartending, I might as well have a drink. I pushed up, over the bar, and behind picking up a random bottle from the shelf. It was almost completely full, so I started pouring a glass.

*whizz! clang!* "You forgot to knock, Yank!"

I looked up, and nearly screamed. A nice, shiny cleaver was sticking out of the wall beside me, inches away from hitting me in the nose and taking it off. Someone had thrown it at me.

"I'm gon' need to see some ID with 'at, mate. And even so, I woun' let you 'ave a snort of 'at."

I looked over to see a man sitting at one of the seats at the table. He had spiky brown hair and a five o'clock shadow. How he had gotten in here without making any noise was beyond me. What my biggest question, for some reason, was why a British guy like that would be named after the old guy from The Karate Kid.

"Mr. Miyagi?" I asked.

"'Oo's asking?" He said.

"Me, sir. My name is Oliver Blake. I've been sent here to be taught by you."

He laughed. "You? Why in God's name would I teach someone like you? You almost stole my booze!"

Smug bastard. I would show him. I felt the keychain in my pocket.

"I mean, 'ow you found this place is beyond me. I 'ope Betsy dinnit let you in, or I'm firing 'er."

"I didn't find it." I replied. I pulled out the keychain and held it up. "I was sent here to you."

His smile disappeared in that instant. He stood up and snatched the keychain out of my hand.

"'Ow'd you come by this, Yank? You steal it from one of my students?"

"No. I was given it by someone. He told me to meet you."

"Be more specific, kid. I need to be 'earing more than just 'someone'. Gimme a name."

"Carl Maclaren." I replied.

He laughed. "Blimey. Well I'll be damned if 'e sent you. Carl wos one of my best students. 'e clearly saw something in you. So why are you 'ere?"

"I told you. I want to be a bartender."

"Really? Are you even old enough?"

"I turned 18 four months ago."

"Hah! And you were still gonna steal my 30-year-old Glen Mckenna! You clearly 'ave some stones. I could have sliced off your nose when I threw 'at." He pointed at the cleaver, still stuck in the wall.

"Well, I can't allow you a job yet, but wot I can promise is 2 years of training wid me. You allow me to take you under my wing, and I'll make you a great barkeep."

I could hardly understand how I had gotten to this, but I kept my mouth shut.

"So, you'll be under my guidance each weekend night for the next 2 and a half years. I expect you are following this, Blake?"

"Yes, sir. Although I want to ask, are you actually called Mr. Miyagi?"

"No." He said, a bit sadly. "I am a fan of the movie, but my real name is David McCoy."

"And you are legitimately licensed?"

"Yes. Wot I run 'ere is approved by the American Bartending Association. You'll be fully licensed by the end of this. So are you in, Blake?"

I thought for a minute. "I'm in. If you say that there's something about me that's special, then I won't waste it."

David turned out to be a lot harder than I ever imagined. Every weekend night I spent training in the bar instead of going to the keg parties that all the other Columbia students were at. There was one night where he made me take a shaker, and never let me stop shaking until an hour had passed.

"C'mon, Oliver! You got this!" He yelled over and over.

His nickname was misleading as it got. Mr. Miyagi was all about "wax on, wax off". David was much more direct at training. Another night, he had me wipe down tables as fast as I could. He made things harder by wiping the clean tables that I just finished with muddy rags, and then demanding I wipe them up.

For 3 long months, I trained harder than I ever felt. It wasn't like any gym I had ever heard of, but I could tell that David could be a real good personal trainer if he wasn't a psychotic bartending instructor. It made it seem more hard because of all the drinks I was learning to make, he didn't let me have a drop of, which I understood completely. It seemed like the pit I had gotten myself into would be the death of me. That would be rich: on my gravestone it would read "Oliver Blake: death by shaker".

I did have fun one night when David taught me something new. He pulled out over a dozen beers, and gave me different methods on how to open them. The one I had fun with was the "table edge" method. All night long I heard *clink, clink, clink* as bottle caps fell to the floor.

There was another night where David had me learning drink mixes.

"'Ave you thought about your career as a bartender, Oliver?" He said as I shook up a gin and tonic.

"Not really. I'm not sure what I would do if I got a license."

"I see great potential in you. You'll go on to become a great bartender. I'll even be willing to say you could be a good bar owner as well."

"You think so? I never thought of that."

"Oliver, Carl himself started a pub in the Upper West Side. I myself have gone there for a good Glenn Mckenna once in a while. If Carl can manage a bar like that, I can only imagine what you could do."

"You only saying this so that I stay as your student?"

David took a beat, then made the "little bit" sign with his fingers.

"But you're right, David. For the first time in a while, I'm learning something that I enjoy. I'm gonna keep doing this. It's something that I enjoy."

"Good for you. Now make a Cuba Libre!"