Even Drunks Get The Blues
by The Finn
thefinn is running a "Best Of" in place of the article that he didn't finish because his boss doesn't understand the concept "Time Off".... His regular column will resume on Thursday, in which he'll sing to you sad tales of fallen kings and not rant about the man who makes sure he can clothe and feed his kid.
It’s a slow, dirty night. The cigarette smoke is hanging in the air, the bartender is playing CD’s instead of relying on the jukebox. It’s already ten and the bars got half a dozen people in it. It’s a Saturday and, even though I know there’s a shit show at the TLA tonight that’ll draw a big crowd (who I know will show up immediately afterwards), it still feels like it’s gonna be lonely…. I’d talk to the bartender, but I’ve seen him every day for the last three and he’s already seen the memorable bits of my late night shenanigans…
That’s the inherent problem with becoming friends with the people who serve you booze regularly…. You end up hanging out until four or five in the morning, hitting up every after hours joint in the city… Checking out strippers drinking themselves stupid after a hard night of shit tips and shittier customers (“You’re not so pretty when your forehead bounces off the table after your fifth tequila shot, kiddo”)…. Barbacks bitching about their tips and some sous-chef at some frou-frou joint up the street (“Ice… That motherfucker wants ice and I have three customers asking for me. Me!!”)… The same handful of young waitresses lined up to use the bathroom, over and over again ("Did you leave the mirror?") And my friends, the bartenders…. Well, shit man, they’re tired… They just wanna put their feet up for a little bit, have a beer and chill for a few minutes (“Take my shoes off and… ahhh.”)….
Shit. What to do ? Talking to the bartender is out. Play the Megacrack ? Not gonna happen. It’s one of the of the few addictive things I won’t do. Talk to the other patrons ? It doesn’t seem worth it. There’s a couple of kids in the bumper car in the corner acting all first-datey, holding hands and swooning. A few haggard looking kids that’ve been here since noon, most of whom seem half asleep. A couple of frat boys playing pool and calling each other “faggot” entirely too often for my taste.
I could play pinball for the millionth time, watching the numbers rack up without really paying attention to the game (Addams Family, FIFA ’94 or Kiss.. It didn’t matter, I’d rolled them all a dozen times). Or I could just get drunk and go home. Something needs to shake this joint up. That something, though, is not me tonight.
I call it quits around eleven, after some small talk about the previous night with the barback. The crowd is starting to head in. They’re getting loud and tonight, apparently I don’t feel like loud. I head back to the neighborhood, pick up a six and a bottle of whiskey for when I get home. Open the door to my little hovel with fumbling hands and say “Hi” to Guinness (the cat) who barely glances in my direction. Open a beer and turn on the TV….
Oh, shit. “The Tick” is on…. My night’s looking better already…..
thefinn stopped hanging out with bartenders and waitresses and now spends his time with Adult Swim. Archives