Flying solo on Thanksgiving night, I rolled down to the nearest watering hole in the wall for a snort or three. The neighborhood tavern. Just a bar, where people go to lie about their lives and the places they've been. The kind that is slowly dying off these days, where the folks that live stumbling distance away used to gather for a game of pool...watch sports on some beat up old television with $2 PBRs. No frills, no credit cards. Everybody knows each other in these joints. Sit there long enough by yourself and you'll be drawn into a conversation about God knows what. Be yourself, because they'll probably remember you on the next visit.
You don't have to worry about any neon...no store-bought kitch on the walls. No video jukebox thumpin' some horseshit at full volume in the corner. No trivia night. No Jaeger bombs. The idea of advertising at this place is a white sign with big red letters. “PULL TABS” it says, twisting in the wind above the door. There's a simple disc-changer juke over next to the popcorn machine.
Everybody must be at one of the kitch places. There's only a few people around, five or six. All their conversation is fairly audible, even with Van Morrison playing in the background. A small but festive group.
I sauntered past the young heavy set couple in a naugahyde booth making googly eyes at each other over some fish bowl of liquor built for two...caught part of a conversation between a couple guys with a huge stack of pulled pull tabs in front of them. One guy has a jaw like a cash register drawer, he says to the other guy, he says “how do I communicate to my boss the fact that I sell better to women? I mean, I got a way with 'em, they love me...” His buddy says “yeah, you got a radio voice”...just before he made that 'face for radio' joke. I only heard this much because the path to the bar was blocked by a woman with her back to me trying to get her scarf situated.
I finally plunked down on a stool at the bar across the corner from another guy on his own, about 3 stools away. I imagine he's younger than he appears. Now this ol boy looked like he just had his ass chewed out. Like his mind was so tussled, he physically looked like he'd just fallen out of the car he was sleeping in. He must've been buddies with the bartender because the two went back to talking about whatever after I got my beer.
A copy of the local ad rag provided good cover as the two talked. I heard a little of his story, he said he thinks he kinda has it made. He said that most people are dying to get out of the house after spending the holiday with people they don't really like. Him? Shit, he had his peace all day. The bartender let out a rattling smoker's laugh, the guy joined in a second later after an awkward, sputtering start.
The bartender's laughter slowly trailed off as he walked away, pushing his damp dish rag along as he went.
“Yeah, that's what you want.” he said, loud enough to be to me.
“Whatzat?”
He sat there, glassy eyed, got the thousand yard stare at the rim of his glass twelve inches away as his smile slowly dissolved. He didn't repeat himself.
About 5 minutes went by, and he started up again like there was no lull in a conversation we'd been having for awhile.
“No, no, you see...it's not that.”
“It's not what?” I said after a pull on my pint.
“It's not that. I coulda went the family route.” he said, nodding.
He told a barely coherent story about how he had lost at love. It was amazingly rambling and he touched on some things I'm sure weren't related, but there was one thing he was clear on. There was a woman that he had left behind somewhere along the line for quite a few legit sounding reasons, but I could tell he had some...genuine feelings for her. Problem was he didn't think she gave one iota about him at all when in fact she was nuts about him. He said he saw her over Thanksgiving the previous year, found out she's married now. They had the 'what if' talk in a moment of weakness...indulgence. They each found new perspective.
I have no idea if it was true or not, but I could relate.
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