Barflies
I keep a memoir series at Scriggler of my days bartending in the middle of nowhere California. Below is my most recent Barflies post. Please give Barflies a read The series will soon be completed and removed from Scriggler in order to be edited and compiled for publication
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Barflies 12
Bartenders see the truth of people more than people think they do, and more than people want to know they do. The truth is effervescent; bartenders can’t help but to see it bubble up to the surface and glow.
Sometimes the world sends you the truth of people in neon. It’s an event that might occur once maybe twice in a lifetime. Events where you get to clearly see someone’s life, like the great and powerful Oz without that curtain of make believe.
It was an average night in my bar, a cool desert night where the bar doors where left open. The breeze carried nighttime scented air without the hint of trouble. The Barflies were starting to set their paths to home as I was starting to keep my eye on the clock.
Bartenders know to never watch the clock. Never let your guard down in a bar. When you least expect it 20 people will walk in and your back to sucking in your gut and slapping together a smile. It’s best to stay “on” till you unlock your front door.
When a group of correctional officers walked in to my bar an hour before closing I thought nothing of it. My bar wasn’t far from a prison and often the correctional officers came in on their way home.
The officers didn’t’ mix much with the Barflies. Barflies have their own hemisphere that they existed in and often on the outskirts of the law. My Barfly ladies ears would perk up at that the sight of these officers, perhaps they were lonely as they? Sometimes the two would mix together, often not.
This night when my officers arrived I served them their beers, gave a couple of them a passive aggressive stink eye and went back to my own business.
Among the officers was Prom King himself. One of the guys in high school that seemed to always have it figured out. The guy all the girls wanted a taste of. The guy all the guys wanted to be. The one guy that seemed to have it all figured out by sophomore year while the rest of the hoard was busy being losers.
Prom King was now a correctional officer, standing in my bar sipping beer and trying to keep up with the jokes and smirks of the other officers. I found this bit of information almost delicious. I figured a guy like that would be at a fancy college, not as a student but running the place. Here he was standing amongst mortals.
As the night progressed my Barflies all went home and I was left with the officers huddled in a corner. I amused myself by imagining these officers huddled together like penguins for warmth. I spied them on occasion but since closing time was looming I started my nightly routine of stocking the bar, washing mugs, all tedious chores. Beer stocked and mugs washed my night was almost over, all that was left was telling the officers to scatter on home.
This is when the neon of truth hit the bar with a very loud whack.
The front door of the bar swung open, there was the glare of headlights that blinded me for a second then I saw her. It was Prom Queen, in a nightgown; hair tangled up and house slippers on her feet. She slammed the bar door open, looked at me and proceeded to march into the bar.
Maybe some bartenders would run up to her with a “can I help you” or a “are you lost.” Not me, I was instantly fascinated at what I was hoping was about to happen. I stood at the section of my bar where I could see everything and prepared myself to enjoy the show.
Prom Queen was the girl who was at the side of officer Prom King all through high school; she was the girl with a tight smile, perfect hair and parents that had the money for name brand everything. She was fearlessly marching up to the gaggle of correction officers and I was transfixed.
Sadly, I could not hear what she said to Prom King that night. They were all at the very back of the bar and I stood at the helm. I watched the huddle of officers split open. I saw the look on Prom King’s face when his Queen stood pointing fingers at him while waving her arms around. It was an exquisite scene, perfect for a John Hughes film. It was in fact the best thing I had seen in months. The other officers stood silent, grasping their beers as if she would snatch them away.
I watched her perfect hair bounce as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the bar without a glance in my direction or a hint of shame.
Picture this bar, a dusty shack of a bar in the middle of the California desert. Set the scene for the story I just told you in your head. Got it? Now, picture Prom King’s feet the last thing you see as the door to the bar slams shut, the seconds of silence then BOOM the laughter that erupted from the officers and me.
I ran up to the officers, we were all holding our stomachs, slapping thighs…nobody could speak from laughing, nobody could not laugh. It was the very epitome of mirth.
I never saw Prom King in my bar again. I saw them both around town Mr. Prom King and Mrs. Prom Queen seemed content and maybe they were, but I never saw them the same. The curtain had been pulled back. I saw the truth, no matter the tight smiles, perfect hair and “I got this” demeanor. I learned a valuable lesson that day Officer Prom King and his Queen were in fact just people like everyone else.
Interested in my books, series, upcoming events and new book release. Join my mailing list
https://www.caroljamesmarshall.com/
https://scriggler.com/Profile/carol_j...
Barflies 12
Bartenders see the truth of people more than people think they do, and more than people want to know they do. The truth is effervescent; bartenders can’t help but to see it bubble up to the surface and glow.
Sometimes the world sends you the truth of people in neon. It’s an event that might occur once maybe twice in a lifetime. Events where you get to clearly see someone’s life, like the great and powerful Oz without that curtain of make believe.
It was an average night in my bar, a cool desert night where the bar doors where left open. The breeze carried nighttime scented air without the hint of trouble. The Barflies were starting to set their paths to home as I was starting to keep my eye on the clock.
Bartenders know to never watch the clock. Never let your guard down in a bar. When you least expect it 20 people will walk in and your back to sucking in your gut and slapping together a smile. It’s best to stay “on” till you unlock your front door.
When a group of correctional officers walked in to my bar an hour before closing I thought nothing of it. My bar wasn’t far from a prison and often the correctional officers came in on their way home.
The officers didn’t’ mix much with the Barflies. Barflies have their own hemisphere that they existed in and often on the outskirts of the law. My Barfly ladies ears would perk up at that the sight of these officers, perhaps they were lonely as they? Sometimes the two would mix together, often not.
This night when my officers arrived I served them their beers, gave a couple of them a passive aggressive stink eye and went back to my own business.
Among the officers was Prom King himself. One of the guys in high school that seemed to always have it figured out. The guy all the girls wanted a taste of. The guy all the guys wanted to be. The one guy that seemed to have it all figured out by sophomore year while the rest of the hoard was busy being losers.
Prom King was now a correctional officer, standing in my bar sipping beer and trying to keep up with the jokes and smirks of the other officers. I found this bit of information almost delicious. I figured a guy like that would be at a fancy college, not as a student but running the place. Here he was standing amongst mortals.
As the night progressed my Barflies all went home and I was left with the officers huddled in a corner. I amused myself by imagining these officers huddled together like penguins for warmth. I spied them on occasion but since closing time was looming I started my nightly routine of stocking the bar, washing mugs, all tedious chores. Beer stocked and mugs washed my night was almost over, all that was left was telling the officers to scatter on home.
This is when the neon of truth hit the bar with a very loud whack.
The front door of the bar swung open, there was the glare of headlights that blinded me for a second then I saw her. It was Prom Queen, in a nightgown; hair tangled up and house slippers on her feet. She slammed the bar door open, looked at me and proceeded to march into the bar.
Maybe some bartenders would run up to her with a “can I help you” or a “are you lost.” Not me, I was instantly fascinated at what I was hoping was about to happen. I stood at the section of my bar where I could see everything and prepared myself to enjoy the show.
Prom Queen was the girl who was at the side of officer Prom King all through high school; she was the girl with a tight smile, perfect hair and parents that had the money for name brand everything. She was fearlessly marching up to the gaggle of correction officers and I was transfixed.
Sadly, I could not hear what she said to Prom King that night. They were all at the very back of the bar and I stood at the helm. I watched the huddle of officers split open. I saw the look on Prom King’s face when his Queen stood pointing fingers at him while waving her arms around. It was an exquisite scene, perfect for a John Hughes film. It was in fact the best thing I had seen in months. The other officers stood silent, grasping their beers as if she would snatch them away.
I watched her perfect hair bounce as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the bar without a glance in my direction or a hint of shame.
Picture this bar, a dusty shack of a bar in the middle of the California desert. Set the scene for the story I just told you in your head. Got it? Now, picture Prom King’s feet the last thing you see as the door to the bar slams shut, the seconds of silence then BOOM the laughter that erupted from the officers and me.
I ran up to the officers, we were all holding our stomachs, slapping thighs…nobody could speak from laughing, nobody could not laugh. It was the very epitome of mirth.
I never saw Prom King in my bar again. I saw them both around town Mr. Prom King and Mrs. Prom Queen seemed content and maybe they were, but I never saw them the same. The curtain had been pulled back. I saw the truth, no matter the tight smiles, perfect hair and “I got this” demeanor. I learned a valuable lesson that day Officer Prom King and his Queen were in fact just people like everyone else.
Interested in my books, series, upcoming events and new book release. Join my mailing list
https://www.caroljamesmarshall.com/
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