text: “You’re sittin’ in it.” “No, not just some bar. THE bar.” “Oh! ‘THE’ bar. I guess I don’t know where ‘THE’ bar is, Stew.” “The bar that tells you what’s makes a person. See, like, today I see a woman put out a cigarette and throw the butt in the grass at central park. Which, yeah, I think, ‘that’s a no-good thing to do,’ but it’s not like she put it out in someone’s eye. She didn’t blow smoke in an old guy’s face, or... or attack anybody, or anything like that. So how no-good is she? Where’s the bar for good and bad, y’know? Say I’ve drank and drove, but I’ve never, y’know, killed a lady. Or I’ve killed, say, think like, a cat, but not a person. Would I still be good? Where’s that bar?” “After all this time, this is still just ‘some bar?’” “I didn’t mean it like that. Were you listening to what I said?” “Maybe. I mean, no, not really. Don’t get paid to listen. I get paid to bartend. And, y’know, that’s why I’m here. That’s what I’m good at, so that’s what I like to be.” “Don’t we all.” “Hope not. Otherwise I’d be out of business.” “I’m just saying, like... well, y’know what else? I see this same lady not an hour later, and she’s giving her spot up on the bench to some oldie from the home. Same park. So where’s that put her on the bar? How many good things you gotta do to make up for the bad things?” “I don’t know, Stewie. I don’t think there’s a transfer rate. Don’t think you gotta get it down to a ratio.” “Well, is this lady a good person or a bad person? That’s my question.” “Then I guess I don’t got an answer for you. Now let me wash my glasses, you nut.” “...Hey.” “Yeah?” “Does this line of work make you feel fulfilled?” “What’s your problem tonight?” “That’s not how I meant it.” “Yeah? How’d you meant it?” “I’m considering going into a different line of work.” “Bartending?” “Maybe.” “Well, I don’t know your line of work. I don’t know what you like to do. Jesus, I’ve known you for a decade and I don’t know what you do!” “You never asked.” “You never asked me to ask.” “Is that my job?” “I mean you’d never make a motion that’d make me think to ask about you. You strike me as secluded.” “That wasn’t my intention.” “And it wasn’t my concern. So that’s where we are. Here we are. Forgive me. What is it that you do, Stuart?” “Well... this and that, you know. Nothing much.” “Well, I guess, there you go. Look, I love this job. I love the people. I love makin’ em happy. And, in all honesty, I love guys like you.” “You don’t know me.” “Well, yeah, I suppose, but I know the you that comes here. I know the everybody that comes here. My favorite part of working here is nights like this, right here, where even a loud city like this goes quiet, and you just sit with a guy like you and talk about whatever crazy world you live in. Just sitting in a silent city, it’s--it’s something else.” “How long does it last?” “The silence? I don’t know, couple of hours? Thirty minutes? Depends on the night. But comin’ home to a room I paid for, sittin’ on my bed, turnin’ on a TV I paid for, pouring myself a drink that only I know how to make? After a quiet day like this? I know no greater fulfillment.” “Hmm.” “Does that interest you?” “What?” “Any of that. What I just said. Bartending.” “The... quiet sounds nice.” “Yeah, well, you’d have to work with people. It’s not always quiet.” “I could work around that.” “Plus... I think a guy like you in a quiet like this might get lost in his own ramblings.” “I’ve been in quiet rooms before.” “Right. You’re right. Just never pictured you doing anything *but* rambling, I guess. do you want a drink?” “Not tonight.” “Seriously, Stew, what’s goin’ on? You still thinkin’ about that lady?” “It’s just... what’s the worst thing you can do to still be a good person? Say you’ve killed a cat but you’ve never blown up a building. Which side of the bar are you on?” “Stew, did you kill a cat?” “What? No.” “You keep bringin’ it up.” “I thought you weren’t listening.” “I try not to. You just say some heavy stuff sometimes.” “Sorry.” “Don’t apologize... look, if you’re really interested in bar work, I can show you how to pour your own drink.” “I’m not thirsty.” “We don’t drink for thirst, you maniac. Watch me. Look at the shot glass. *Bam*, right there, slam it on the table. Make *sure* you can slam your glasses on the table. Most people don’t think about it, but you see the boys that run through this place. Young ‘n fresh Neanderthals who think they’re in the damn Wild West. *Slam*, every time. They slam a glass and it breaks, they’re not comin’ back. And you’re down a glass. So none a' that cheapy bargain bin crap. Got it? Thick, heavy glass.” “Am I gonna be in charge of buying glasses?” “Well, no. Just letting you know.” “Gotcha.” “Okay, time to pour. The key is half an ounce per second. Can you picture half an ounce?” “No.” “Alright, watch. One. There, that’s half an ounce. You got that? Two, three, four. Four seconds, two ounces, you see?” “I’m not great with numbers.” “Okay, well, this one’s mine. You wanna try?” “I’m fine.” “You givin’ up on bar work that easy?” “I think I’m kidding myself.” “Well, it takes practice. You aren’t gonna get the perfect shot day zero. If it was easy, everyone would do it.” “I guess.” “Can’t say I didn’t try.” “You ever think you drink too much?” “What? No, not really.” “How often do you drink?” “As often as I’d like. Most nights I work.” “That’s not too much?” “As often as I’d like? No, I don’t think so. I own the place.” “You afraid of getting addicted?” “Like, being an alcoholic? Sometimes. Depends on the day.” “How much do you drink on your worst day?” “What’s this about, Stew?” “Just asking.” “I’d say my worst day was probably the day pops died. And, y’know, I had just got my hands around these bottles, so I might have taken it a little too far. But I learned the lesson.” “What was the lesson?” “Don’t drink for dead people.” “How do you know you won’t have that bad of a day again?” “Well, like I said, it was my worst day.” “You won’t have another worst day?” “If I did, what’d be the point of learning a lesson?” “I guess sometimes I feel like I can’t learn.” “What’d make you think a thing like that? We all gotta learn. Someone taught you to walk in here and buy a drink.” “It’s not what I’m good at.” “Yeah, no kidding. When was the last time you actually bought something from me?” “Before I got my new job.” “Give me somethin’, Stew.” “Social work.” “Ah, social work. Social work’s not too bad. Do you like it?” “Not really.” “What’s wrong with it?” “It’s what I’m good at. But it’s not what I like to do. Or I hope it isn’t.” “You hope it isn’t?” “I-I mean I think it isn’t. I mean, I don’t think I could do it for the rest of my life. I don’t want to.” “Yeah, well, they say you gotta find that happy medium.” “I don’t think I have a happy medium.” “Sure you do.” “I keep having the worst day. Or I keep thinking it’s the worst day, but it’s not. The next day is.” “Well, are you learning?” “What am I supposed to learn? That it doesn’t get better? That I’m doomed?” “No, of course not. You’re not doomed. You’re still here. It gets better.” “When?” “I don’t know. When you find something you like to do.” “...I think I need a drink.” “Ah, now look who’s thirsty. Alright, remember, what’s the key to the drink?” “Thick glass.” “Right. One, two, three, four, and that’s yours. Drink responsibly.” “Always do.” “...I think you’re above the bar, Stew.” “Thanks.