Post by Dontevius Ellis on Jul 5, 2016 18:48:11 GMT -5
I took a seat on the bar stool.
It’d been a long week. I exceeded everyone’s expectations in the Last Chance Battle Royal. I defeated Chris Parsons and Razor Blade. Then I beat a bonafide Starr and former Underground Queen. I was riding high and everything was going according to plan.
Two Traumas and two losses later, including a failed attempt at the Underground Championship, and it seems I’ve come crashing down. Cloud nine is always unstable territory and somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten that. We effectively neutralized the Darkness but, as could’ve been predicted, forgetting about the champ proved costly.
That’s not to mention that Kelsey was in the front row to watch me fail. Not the first time she’s bought front row tickets to that show I guess.
I felt like I was falling back into those typical lows.
“What’s your poison?” the bartender chimed in.
Not quite that low.
“I don’t drink. Sweet tea alright?”
The bartender nodded without showing the disappointment I’d expected from him. Not long after, he returned with a glass of that sweet amber-colored goodness. I fought with the straw to get it into proper position and took a few long gulps.
There’s nothing quite as southern as sweet tea.
“Wanna talk about it?” the bartender asked.
“What?” I asked, not prepared for the question.
“Well, you saddle up to a bar with droopy eyes, turn down a stiff drink, and are content with just a sweet tea. People usually ‘fix’ their problems with alcohol. You’ve clearly got problems but aren’t interested in the fix. I know,” he said with a wave of his hand, “it’s typical to talk to an ol’ barkeep about your problems but hey, that stereotype has to come from somewhere. Why not lay it down on an experienced ear? A woman? A job?”
That was curiously on-point.
“You could say that,” I replied simply.
“I get ya,” he said as he took a drink order from another patron. “Workplace fraternization is always dangerous territory.”
Ah. So he wasn’t a mind reader.
“I suppose it is,” I responded evasively.
“Just gotta figure out what your priorities are.”
Ok, he’s back.
“Which do you care about more, the career or the girl?”
The future or the past? I gotta admit, the present is blurry.
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” I answered. “I guess it’s not possible to salvage both?”
“Love in those terms is gonna keep ya from getting anywhere significant,” he pointed out as he handed out a few beers and took the money. “Now that’s not to say that love isn’t worth it. Love can be magical and incredible. You can stay right where you are and be happy in love. Maybe you switch it up a bit, get something else going that you can excel at, stay out of each other’s way.”
“I wouldn’t call it love,” I said with a shrug.
Or, at least, not aloud.
“Then the answer’s simple, isn’t it?” he said with a smile. “Gotta do what’s best for you, what looks the most like success.”
“I’m not sure what that even is anymore.”
Shit. I said that out loud, didn’t I?
“Sounds like it’s more than you admit with this girl. You’re a youngster though. You’ve got plenty of opportunities ahead of you. Plenty of fish in the sea, time to refine your career direction. What I wouldn’t give to be your age again.”
“Bartending wasn’t your dream, huh?” I asked as I met his gaze.
He laughed heartily. “What, and miss all the fights and vomit? I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. I’m livin’ the dream.”
The dream.
Something flickered in my mind. Somehow, I sensed that something was wrong.
“Hey bartender! A round of shots!”
I then felt myself falling to the ground as the man pushed up to the bar. He bumped me off of my stool and I’m pretty sure he meant it.
“Whoops! Sorry about that, dawg,” he said mockingly.
His buddies laughed as he switched his focus back to the bartender. I got back to my feet and dusted myself off.
“No problem, hillbilly.”
I pushed myself back onto the stool and into the man’s side. He had just picked up the shots and lost control of them, dumping them down the front of his shirt. He turned and shoved me off the stool but this time, I was ready. I moved with the momentum but landed on my feet.
“What the fuck’s your problem, huh?” the man shouted at me.
He was clearly trying to intimidate me. He thought he’d muscle through some nobody and they’d take it out of fear. He’s a bully.
I’ve seen some bullies lately and, in some ways, he’s no different.
Alexa Black.
Murdoc.
They spent their time wearing masks and decorating their faces to use as props for their psychological warfare. They tried to beat their opponents before they’d even stepped in the ring. The big problem for this guy is that intimidation tends to inspire me, not scare me.
I love hitting the biggest and the baddest right in the fucking jaw.
Whether he was actually the biggest or baddest, he dropped like a sack of bricks nonetheless. I looked up at his goons and they advanced on me as I’d expected they would. I readied myself but it was over before it began.
“I think you’ve had enough,” a man wearing a T-shirt that said simply ‘SECURITY’ growled as he approached.
I turned to him ready to challenge him too when I saw that he’d directed his comment at the group of men.
“What the fuck, Jay? We’re in here all the time and you’re just gonna take the Black person’s side?” one of the men argued.
“First off, we don’t tolerate racism here.”
That’s… Refreshing.
“Second off, you’ve got a tab that would roll out the door so it’s not like you’re paying customers, are you?”
“What are you gonna do, make us le--”
“Try me,” the security guy said with a voice that said he was both unafraid and completely capable of doing whatever he needed to do to make all of the men leave.
They must’ve heard exactly what I did.
“Fine, we’ll go but this ain’t over!”
“Yes it is,” the security guy stated matter-of-factly.
Without another word, they helped up the dazed man who started this and left the bar. I sat back down on my stool and took another drink of my tea. The bartender returned with a shot of what smelled like whiskey.
“Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Just think about it. You gotta do what’s best for you. It’s your choice.”
He nodded down at the shot.
“On the house.”
I looked down at the murky brown liquid in the shot glass and lifted it up. I sniffed it curiously and closed my eyes, taking in the rich scent.
To drink or not to drink?
I suppose that's the question in more ways than one.
End.
--------------------
Edited to fix spacing issues
It’d been a long week. I exceeded everyone’s expectations in the Last Chance Battle Royal. I defeated Chris Parsons and Razor Blade. Then I beat a bonafide Starr and former Underground Queen. I was riding high and everything was going according to plan.
Two Traumas and two losses later, including a failed attempt at the Underground Championship, and it seems I’ve come crashing down. Cloud nine is always unstable territory and somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten that. We effectively neutralized the Darkness but, as could’ve been predicted, forgetting about the champ proved costly.
That’s not to mention that Kelsey was in the front row to watch me fail. Not the first time she’s bought front row tickets to that show I guess.
I felt like I was falling back into those typical lows.
“What’s your poison?” the bartender chimed in.
Not quite that low.
“I don’t drink. Sweet tea alright?”
The bartender nodded without showing the disappointment I’d expected from him. Not long after, he returned with a glass of that sweet amber-colored goodness. I fought with the straw to get it into proper position and took a few long gulps.
There’s nothing quite as southern as sweet tea.
“Wanna talk about it?” the bartender asked.
“What?” I asked, not prepared for the question.
“Well, you saddle up to a bar with droopy eyes, turn down a stiff drink, and are content with just a sweet tea. People usually ‘fix’ their problems with alcohol. You’ve clearly got problems but aren’t interested in the fix. I know,” he said with a wave of his hand, “it’s typical to talk to an ol’ barkeep about your problems but hey, that stereotype has to come from somewhere. Why not lay it down on an experienced ear? A woman? A job?”
That was curiously on-point.
“You could say that,” I replied simply.
“I get ya,” he said as he took a drink order from another patron. “Workplace fraternization is always dangerous territory.”
Ah. So he wasn’t a mind reader.
“I suppose it is,” I responded evasively.
“Just gotta figure out what your priorities are.”
Ok, he’s back.
“Which do you care about more, the career or the girl?”
The future or the past? I gotta admit, the present is blurry.
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” I answered. “I guess it’s not possible to salvage both?”
“Love in those terms is gonna keep ya from getting anywhere significant,” he pointed out as he handed out a few beers and took the money. “Now that’s not to say that love isn’t worth it. Love can be magical and incredible. You can stay right where you are and be happy in love. Maybe you switch it up a bit, get something else going that you can excel at, stay out of each other’s way.”
“I wouldn’t call it love,” I said with a shrug.
Or, at least, not aloud.
“Then the answer’s simple, isn’t it?” he said with a smile. “Gotta do what’s best for you, what looks the most like success.”
“I’m not sure what that even is anymore.”
Shit. I said that out loud, didn’t I?
“Sounds like it’s more than you admit with this girl. You’re a youngster though. You’ve got plenty of opportunities ahead of you. Plenty of fish in the sea, time to refine your career direction. What I wouldn’t give to be your age again.”
“Bartending wasn’t your dream, huh?” I asked as I met his gaze.
He laughed heartily. “What, and miss all the fights and vomit? I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. I’m livin’ the dream.”
The dream.
Something flickered in my mind. Somehow, I sensed that something was wrong.
“Hey bartender! A round of shots!”
I then felt myself falling to the ground as the man pushed up to the bar. He bumped me off of my stool and I’m pretty sure he meant it.
“Whoops! Sorry about that, dawg,” he said mockingly.
His buddies laughed as he switched his focus back to the bartender. I got back to my feet and dusted myself off.
“No problem, hillbilly.”
I pushed myself back onto the stool and into the man’s side. He had just picked up the shots and lost control of them, dumping them down the front of his shirt. He turned and shoved me off the stool but this time, I was ready. I moved with the momentum but landed on my feet.
“What the fuck’s your problem, huh?” the man shouted at me.
He was clearly trying to intimidate me. He thought he’d muscle through some nobody and they’d take it out of fear. He’s a bully.
I’ve seen some bullies lately and, in some ways, he’s no different.
Alexa Black.
Murdoc.
They spent their time wearing masks and decorating their faces to use as props for their psychological warfare. They tried to beat their opponents before they’d even stepped in the ring. The big problem for this guy is that intimidation tends to inspire me, not scare me.
I love hitting the biggest and the baddest right in the fucking jaw.
Whether he was actually the biggest or baddest, he dropped like a sack of bricks nonetheless. I looked up at his goons and they advanced on me as I’d expected they would. I readied myself but it was over before it began.
“I think you’ve had enough,” a man wearing a T-shirt that said simply ‘SECURITY’ growled as he approached.
I turned to him ready to challenge him too when I saw that he’d directed his comment at the group of men.
“What the fuck, Jay? We’re in here all the time and you’re just gonna take the Black person’s side?” one of the men argued.
“First off, we don’t tolerate racism here.”
That’s… Refreshing.
“Second off, you’ve got a tab that would roll out the door so it’s not like you’re paying customers, are you?”
“What are you gonna do, make us le--”
“Try me,” the security guy said with a voice that said he was both unafraid and completely capable of doing whatever he needed to do to make all of the men leave.
They must’ve heard exactly what I did.
“Fine, we’ll go but this ain’t over!”
“Yes it is,” the security guy stated matter-of-factly.
Without another word, they helped up the dazed man who started this and left the bar. I sat back down on my stool and took another drink of my tea. The bartender returned with a shot of what smelled like whiskey.
“Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Just think about it. You gotta do what’s best for you. It’s your choice.”
He nodded down at the shot.
“On the house.”
I looked down at the murky brown liquid in the shot glass and lifted it up. I sniffed it curiously and closed my eyes, taking in the rich scent.
To drink or not to drink?
I suppose that's the question in more ways than one.
End.
--------------------
Edited to fix spacing issues
