A Moment In A Bar
They’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone.
11:07pm
“Hey Johnny, how you doing?”
“Not bad, not bad, same old..” Johnny’s answer rolled off to a grumble while hanging his old flannel jacket on the stool back. “What, you live here or something? You’re here all the time.”
Mickey shrugs, “Gotta pay the bills and they don’t let this face out in the daytime, you know?”
Johnny snickered, the same snicker as every time Mickey made some joke about not seeing sunlight. You’d swear the guy actually thinks he’s funny.
“You want any food now or gonna wait?” Mickey put the Miller bottle on his right side, Johnny’s left. It’s the little things that get big tips.
“Nah, I’ll let the booze do the ordering tonight. Probably do some of ’em nachos with the pork Mo was talking about the other day.”
“Yeah, he and the lady came in and housed a plate of them. A headless otter could have smelled the reefer on them, my God, I was almost high just serving ’em! Love those guys.”
“It’s weird,” Johnny said, “I can’t stand weed, the smell, the culture, the feeling. But boy do I love hanging out with a couple that gets high. Hear me, a couple, none of those boy groups that rot their brains on the TV. I’ve met some fun hippie stoner couples. Keep an eye out for them, they’re fun.”
Mickey was chuckling while cleaning up remnants of a tense date. He hadn’t known the couple, but they’d clearly been fighting about something earlier, had “gotten over it”, then came here to stoke those emotional embers with whiskey gingers. Fights mean bad tips.
He lifted his head when a voice called from back by the pool table “HEY, the table’s stuck again!”
“Did you kick the leg and hit the side?”
“Just like you friggin showed us. Nothing.”
“Alright I’ll be back in a minute.”
Mickey hated that pool table. Everything about it. From it constantly jamming to the memory of losing $350 to an out of town hustler on an all-or-nothing. Never should have said yes, should have walked away.
“Before you get lost back there, can you give me a refill, Mick?”
“Griffy! Coors coming right up.”
They both smiled as Griff said his canned response. “Don’t you bring no piss water over here.”
The 3 kitchen workers yelled softly in the background. The jukebox was crushing tonight. Waitresses walked from table to table, no hurry in sight.
Maddy stopped at the table of guys in the middle. “How we doing over here, what can I get you? More beers? Shots? My number?” They erupted, slapping each others shoulders, one yelling over the laughter “Yo! He was just saying you’re hot! Ryan, right here. Yeah, chicken tender guy!”
Everyone at the bar and a few at the tables looked over at the fun. That’s really all it was. Just a little fun.
It’s nice when the nights mixed that in every once and awhile, so they enjoyed the flash moment then went back to their drinks. To the game. To the jokes. The menu. The conversations.
The juke box played “Desperado”. Almost everyone in the place sang the second line.
“Why don’t you come to your senses”
Written by Andrew Mies on a late night by the Christmas Tree.
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