Very tired getting to work, the day after Bastille Day... Fortunately it's a different back-up band, guitar, vibraphone, behind our singing friend, and more of Burt Bacharach theme, and an old regular comes in right at 5:30 as I reach to fill the six water pitchers, two plastic, four stainless steel, shoveling in the ice from the ice bin, letting the tap run before I much acknowledge them, I'm stressed still, but it's good to see a regular, one who appreciates the unique vibe at this unique little wine bar French bistrot of value and quality... An attractive woman from a different country comes in, with her parents, who smile, and they've made a reservation, great, and soon I help her pick out a wine, happy hour cotes du rhone by the glass rather than the Vacqueyras, she likes the taste of the wine I pour her, and I also bring her a sip of Beaujolais, for friendly measure... They turn out to be from Turkey.
The end of the night getting a little fuzzy with the regulars hanging out with the musicians, an extra glass of wine poured after people have paid their checks, they're good customers, people who bring something...The singer hangs out with me as I eat my chicken curry, has a glass of the new pinot noir, gives me a ride home finally.
One more night to work. 9 AM call to mom, to reassure her that her friend is coming. Groceries, wine, cat food. I finally wake up at two in the afternoon, after dreaming, dreaming of a girl I should have better expressed my affection and more demonstrably, dreaming of taking a ride together, as if on a tour bus, going up North to see the river above Amherst, the land where my dad came from, I wake up feeling pretty stupid. One more night, wine tasting.
Work day number four. At this point it's all about eating and sleeping enough, to get through. My mind flashes with the experience of the people who might come in... as if in some form psychic anticipation...
I monkey with the drain of the tub, baking soda, vinegar, hot water... And it's time to get going, the old bus, after eating a couple of chicken sausages.
Finally, the end of the week comes, mom emotional over the phone, suddenly feeling the absence of her sons, after her lady helper's visit.
It's the first day off, and sometimes even being out in nature fails you. You can't put your finger on it. The yoga outside, that was good, the insect repellent worked well, but you realize you're not a part of the world, as if.
"My failings... my failures..." So says the mind after, all the agitations of a barman's toiling. The mind looks for further agitation, desires, memories of things past one would like to change, as if to recreate the same equilibrium had with people at you all night. What should I do now, the mind asks, agitated, seeking some kind of external calming... Facebook, Tinder... Wanting to go out, to meet the opposite sex...
Agitation is now so normal in the world, the individual participates, competes at it. Louder, faster. And far far away, the Buddha sits under his tree... Agitation leads you to look at Facebook over and over, looking for a replacement for all the talk in your head.
Hearing the shadows of agitated voices at the bar still ringing in my head... Relaxing is not easy, particularly when one is alone. But going out on the town is not really what one needs... It takes time, at least a day, and then hopefully nothing comes up...
Why it fell upon me to comprehend all this, I guess it was a natural state of affairs, a blossoming of an idea that had long simmered, a thought I had well earned over years of listening to people, being forced to listen to people, for all the observations large and small from observing people interact, some puffed up with booze, some merely enjoying temperate wine drinking...
Why go out? What's the point? You've got enough to do just where you are, socks to sort and put away...
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