eight

i had a kerouac moment last night. interestingly enough, i was at the bar reading 'on the road' when it happened. (yes, i was reading a book at a bar; i actually enjoyed it, and i plan on continuing it. it beats hearing mini-liza at freaking starbucks sing the menu, so back off.)

so there's a guy 2 stools down from me, at the far edge of the bar. clearly a blue collar guy, complete with the sewn on name tag. for the first 30 minutes, he was quiet, almost pensive. i could tell he was wondering why i was reading a book at a bar, or he was at least wondering something, but he never talked to me. (i've heard i exude an aura of 'leave me the fuck alone' when i'm sitting by myself, and while unintentional, it works, because strangers rarely talk to me.)

anyway, after 30 minutes, he orders a shrimp plate, to go. while ordering the shrimp plate, he mentions that it's for his best friend. he then asks the bartender girl (a vast improvement on liza) if she has a best friend. obviously, this puts her off a skosh, and the freak meter is starting to push into orange. she politely responds that she does have a best friend, but she doesn't elaborate.

the man isn't satisifed with this cursory response. he then goes into this soliloquy about how people need a best friend, someone they would do anything for, and when you have an opportunity to surprise them with a shrimp plate, well dammit, you should just do it. and that's why he was ordering a shrimp plate. he wanted the sweet potato fries in a separate container because although the plate was for his best friend, his best friend didn't deserve sweet potato fries.

and here comes the kerouac moment. i sat there for at least 5 minutes, wondering what this man's life is like. i had an urge to follow him around, see this best friend, and just be a temporary voyeur into his motivations. i wondered if he actually was as despondent as he tried to hide. i wondered if he had empty bottles of jack daniels at home. i wondered if he had a dog. i wondered how many times he'd been divorced. i wondered how long it had been since he talked to his kids, or if his kids even return his calls. i wondered when he last cleaned his microwave. i wondered if he read anything other than the sports section of the newspaper. i wondered if he was just waiting for the big sleep to come.

in a very slight way, the guy reminded me of my father. i can't even begin to detail all the glaring differences between the two, but just the overall air of being defeated, no matter how you try to gloss it, came through.

that's it. resume your lives.