Bar Type People

I had been a waitress since before I was legally old enough to work. Tricking people with fake Ids, or only going to dive bars that didn't bother asking. Mostly the latter. He had started coming around as an escape from his life, and the outside world. One night, we were talking after the bar closed. I was sitting in a bar stool beside him because I was off shift. I turned to him and said I was thinking about getting out of this life. That I wanted something, more reputable. He laughed, and shook his head.
“You couldn't leave if you wanted to. You're too in love with the people.” He argued. I laughed.
“Oh come on. Just because I'm a good listener doesn't mean I enjoy catering to drunk idiots. Who could love this?” I asked. He was quiet for a minute, trying to form his sentence.
“It's more than that. They're catering to you.” He corrected. I raised my eyebrow.
“How do you figure that?” I questioned, almost feeling offended. He smiled.
“You need to believe in something real. Something that doesn't feel contrived. Overdone. Animated. That's what these people do. They give you hope that not everyone is fake. They make you believe that there's more to life then meets the eye.” He continued. I shook my head.
“Think about it.” He continued, pausing to get my attention. I nodded.
“This is real. These people who sit here and drink, wallow in their self pity. They don't pretend to love their boring jobs. Or fucked up spouses. They let their imperfections show. Their demons are on display. They don't hide behind fake smiles and how are you's. They're comfortable with not caring about anyone but themselves in the glow that only Whiskey brings. Only because the alcohol shows them that real honesty is better than fake happiness.” He explained. I hadn't thought about it, but he was right. I did like knowing that there were people out there who were real, who didn't pretend. He knew me better than I even knew myself sometimes.
“Deep down, everyone hates their lives.” He finished. We were both quiet, lost in thought. But after a few minutes, he took my hand in his and looked over at me.
“We're all just looking for someone who can look us in the eye and say, “I can't fucking stand this either.”” He finished. I smiled, then kissed him.
“I can't fucking stand this either.” I repeated. He nodded, squeezing my hand. He didn't have to say anything else. There were a few moments just like that one, where we said nothing, but knew we didn't need to. I knew I had found that in him. The fucked up forever after. Perfectly imperfect. I also knew, it didn't matter what could, would, or had, happened, he felt the same. No matter what else changed between us, this remained a constant.
Bar Type People Bar Type People Reviewed by Ali Larsen on April 01, 2015 Rating: 5

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