I can’t sleep. I’ve counted sheep. Did some reading. Popped a few pills. Still staring at a black ceiling. Not even tired. So, I throw on an old shirt and dirty
jeans. Head down the street to Dusty’s
Saloon to get a drink.
As you can imagine, it’s pretty
dead on a Wednesday night. A
couple of guys in yellowed country band t-shirts shooting pool and a lady in a
cheap uniform that looks like her shift just ended or is about to begin. Classic rock is always on the
radio. I take a stool at the end
of the bar.
The TV's on, but never with
volume. Nothing but garbage
sandwiched between ads. Pushing
prescription drugs. Selling some
redesigned car. Another couple of
minutes of an unfunny sitcom.
Please stop running this baby diaper ad repeatedly. It’s been rough lately. I order a whiskey and take in the
scenery. Hopefully, the
combination will make me drowsy.
Two girls whisper to each
other as they walk into the bar.
Probably about how disappointed they are with how empty it is in
here. Or, how it’s such a
dive. Both in their twenties. One wasn’t attractive and the other was
average. But, they are all dolled
up. So, you know they aren't from
around here. Probably came down
from Chicago for work or a funeral or something. I’m surprised they take a table instead of looking for a
better place (not that there is one in this town). I order another round.
I take what’s in the well because I’m looking to get drunk; not
flavor. “That’ll be two dolla,”
the bartender says, “Ya need ten ifya wanna put it onna card.”
Guy’s new. Doesn’t know I’m a regular and good for
it. “I’ll put it on da tab,” and
show him a wad of cash in my wallet.
He seems satisfied.
“Want some pretzels or
somethin’?”
“Nah,” I drop the stir stick
into the trash behind the bar, “Just keep ‘em comin.' I’ll tellya when I’m done fer da night.”
“No prob.” He went on some kind of rant about the
game that night and all. Seems
like an alright guy. Maybe I’ll
get to know him if he decides to stick around.
The two city girls finally
order drinks at the bar. Took them
a while to figure out there isn’t any table service. They keep whispering and giggling. Probably laughing at me since I catch them looking in my
direction a couple of times. I
look like I just got out of bed because I did just get out of bed. A wreck for sure. I should just ignore them. But, I'm bored. When the bartender comes back with their
drinks I say, “Hey, put ‘em on my tab.”
I don't give them “the eyes” or anything. Just thought it’d be nice to talk with someone that isn’t
from here. But, it just makes them
giggle and whisper some more.
After a couple of minutes, I write them off. Not even a “thank you” or anything. My attention turns back to watching Demolition
Man.
“Umm… Wouldja like ta sit with us?” asks the
average girl. They have to be more
bored with this place than I am. I
came in with lower expectations.
The other girl seems nervous and I can’t blame her. But, when you come to a place like this
in this town, you don’t always get to choose your company.
It's good though. The unattractive one is quiet, but
nice. The average girl is a bit of
a snob. Sometimes it can be difficult
to tell if someone is a snob or just shy.
I mean, you really don’t know until you interact with someone for a
while. A shy person will talk, but will play coy until they’re comfortable with you. But, a snob will eventually curl their lip and judge your every
action. Some are princesses and I
can’t stand them. You know, they
dress up in white pants, laugh like hyenas, and pretend to fart rainbows. We all know how much of a pill-popping
lunatic bitch they really are.
But, these girls were alright.
Even the snob. At least
they didn’t stare blankly at their smartphones texting pointless messages the
entire time.
“I knew ya two weren’t from
here,” I say to the average girl, “Look ‘round. Getting’ dressed up ta go bar hoppin’ means puttin’ on yer
cleanest t-shirt. That’s not an
insult either. Just an
observation.”
“Really?” she replies. There was a glance at my grubby shirt
and a look of disgust at the other patrons when she realizes I'm right.
“Really. I use ta live in a skyscraper fulla
assholes. Designer clothes. Interior decorated apartments. Luxury cars. Convinced they're important. Use ta getting’ what they want, when they want, how they
want. Not people in this
town. They take what they can git 'n ‘preciative ‘bout it too. Some
have da courage ta leave n’ chase their dreams. Go ta Chicago, New York, or L.A. None of them really find it 'n end up comin’ back. But, at least we tried.”
“Hmm… That’s depressin.’”
“It is what it is. So, what are ya in town fer? I know we’re no tourist destination,
but I can point ya in the right direction ifya lookin’ fer somethin.’”
She doesn't care. Says something about a wedding. So, we kind of just sit here at the
table quietly. I could of just stayed
at the bar and not talked. Fortunate
Son by CCR is playing on the
radio. If we're not going to talk,
we might as well have good music.
I order us another round even though our glasses are still half
full. Need something to do. “Haveya seen Da Great Gatsby?” Leonardo was
won-der-ful. It was amazin.’”
“Yeah, I saw it.” It was a flash in the pan with the
substance gutted out like a fish. There’s no examination or thought of the concept of the
American Dream. Just a lame love
triangle with indulgent special effects.
And bad music.
“Wasn’t it great? I just loved it. I woulda loved goin’ ta those parties.”
“So, ya like da movies?”
trying to steer the conversation elsewhere so I don’t become offensive, “What’s
some of yer favorites?”
“I just think Baz Luhrmann’s
great. All those pretty dresses 'n beautiful homes. So
romantic.” I just focus on my
drink. Everyone can say their
opinion, but they never wants to hear mine. After a bit, she finally stops talking about The Great
Gatsby.
“I didn’t git yer
names. I’m Luke.”
“I’m Jenny and this is
Andrea.” I try to find a topic all
of us can participate in.
Nothing seems to work. I
ask where they are from and work. I make up a fake problem just so I can ask for their
advice. But, they seem
underwhelmed with everything.
Well, they are originally from nowheresville, Iowa, but now live in New
York City working at a clothing store.
I ask if they like their jobs.
No, but the discount is decent.
Andrea, the unattractive
one, actually starts to talk.
She’s actually pretty funny and interesting once she’s had a couple of
drinks. She has a good story about
all these suburban teenage girls that come into their store. They come in as a group and scatter toward the merchandise they like. Then, one of them pukes on purpose. Just vomits in the middle of the shop. When Andrea or whoever is distracted getting the cleaning supplies, all the rest start shoplifting like crazy.
Then, they’d all make a break for it. Now, if someone gets sick they have to just stand there
watching everyone and wait for security.
You can’t make this shit up.
I order us another round.
“Why ya orderin’ us all
these drinks?” Andrea is not
asking a question so much as making an accusation. “What doya want in exchange fer these daiquiris?”
“Nothin’ at all,” I say,
“Just ta hang out with ya until I git tired ‘n can go home ‘n git ta sleep,
which will be pretty soon.” The
bartender is already putting up the stools for the night.
“Nothin’? C’mon, two pretty girls walk inta a bar
‘n ya ‘spect nothin’ when ya buy ‘em drinks?”
“Nope. Howya know I don’t have a girlfriend or
wife at home or something’?
Anyway, won’t ask fer yer number or anything.’”
“Why not?” Andrea says
raising her voice.
“Yer not mad ‘cause I’m
not tryin’ ta pick ya up now, are ya?”
That makes me laugh. A real
damned if you do; damned if you don’t moment. Andrea blushes and Jenny pretends she’s not interested in
the conversation. She hears every
word, but still pretends.
The new bartender makes last
call and I pick up a round.
Grab popcorn for the table to absorb the alcohol. Cash out. The table is covered with little napkins, stir sticks, and
toothpicks. Sticky with spilled
dried out beverages. The lights
come up to full brightness so the bartender can sweep the floor. All of us squint our eyes. Probably because our eyes dilate, but
maybe because we can see what each other really looks like now. Didn’t expect to stay until close. Maybe I should just stay up instead of
going to bed tonight. Got to be at
the worksite by seven.
I toss back the last of the
whiskey and ask them if they know how to get back to their place. Say they do. Mention that they have a bunch of stuff to do for their college
friend’s wedding this weekend: flowers, dresses, dinners, and all that
nonsense. I put them in Joe’s
taxi. I know Joe. Long story. But, he sits at Dusty’s Saloon every night since he can rely
on their loyal customers.
Poor girls. Drove all the way here from NYC. Had to get a hotel, rent a car,
bridesmaid gowns, gas, and probably a million other things. All on their part-time retail
wages. So much for degrees. After thinking about it, I’m glad I
bought them their drinks. It’s sad
that no one ever comes here because they want to. The Visitor Center’s motto should be, “Welcome: we’re glad
you’re obligated to be here!”
I head up 5th and
turn down Williams Street. Drag my
shoes down the unlit sidewalks.
The only light faintly shines from the front porches of various homes. A few TVs flicker behind curtained
windows. Leaves crinkle in the
cool summer breeze. Sunrise will
be in a few hours. Probably just
wonder around until then. Get some
breakfast and head to work.
Thank you for reading and your support. This would not be possible without you!
If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or anything else, please feel free to contact me at: LukeArchaism@gmail.com
