3 years ago500+ Views
In an attempt to get out more, I decided to go out and meet with a couple of coworkers at a bar. With the hype of March 17th, and the not so commute to actually understanding the whole origins behind this holiday and every other holiday, the people at the bar go about like it's the time of their lives, wear green clothing, and tuxedos, and necklaces, and hats, and all other memorable and authorized material that is part of Saint Patrick. My name, and tweed hat is all I have. I could've worn my Boondock Saints shirt, but given how much I've gotten old over the clothing that makes people into walking billboards, I told myself not to wear it and go for the standard stripe shirt completely faded, and black skinny jeans, and converse. I figured if I had enough of the loud, pompous civilization of drunken people, and women acting like strippers in a prelude to open up on the dance floor, I could ask the bouncer outside to take my slender body, and throw me at the nearest table. But I walked in anyway after showing him my ID. This place is alive and hyper. People among various weight and height, and drinks that represented them as slick and kinky. A lot of them are at the bar waving their cash at the lovely, tiresome barmaids trying to focus on the costs, and the receipts, and tips so they can get a sense of comfortable foreboding. Before I could order my drink, I went over to the center of the bar where I saw T there sipping his beer and observing the entire place. We exchanged greetings, and his inaudible responses were hard to hear due to DJ Masta Showoff illuminating beats and mixed sounds to keep everyone on their toes. He told me S was around having a good time and that I should get my drink, so I did. I walk awkwardly towards the bar, slinking around everyone not to bump into the them and spill their drinks. At least, they are the ones not paying attention to the cylinder of the glasses and are already making the floors sticky. I order a shot of Jameson and a bottle of Heineken. I walk back and I noticed something about T that I never thought could occur until I actually hung out with him outside of work for the first time: He was trying to fit in. Just like me. He observed and calmly downed his drink and added gestures of appreciation and fun. I leaned in close to hear him better. "I'm on edge" he said, clinching his hands. "You know how you say to yourself you can be as you are and be part of the crowd?" He asked. "Yeah" I reply, "I get that a lot." "You know, we're like the only homo sapiens who can understand who's worth being with, and when to actually back out." The music faded and went to the next popular song, and T flinched and took another sip of his drink. Unexpectedly, I was hunched over by arms wrapped around me. It was S, giggling and happy to see me, while shaking her hips to the music. "Heeey, Pat, you finally got your drink on!" She's wearing a black tank top, a green ball cap, blue shorts, and expensive cowboy boots. At this point I transitioned into what T was describing. I tried to pretend that the party was a wave of delusional carrying me. I thought I had this, but realize I could only survive this night by allowing the alcohol rush into my system and smile like I know nothing of what's really going. "I'm glad you finally came out" S smiles, then turns serious towards T as she handed him her phone showing her work schedule. I nod, "I know." She has a way of shifting emotions: She can be serious at one point and then the next all outgoing. I could tell by the way she held her beer, dripping from one side to the other. She would come over to me, dance her ass in front of me, and then walk over to others as if a business deal was going on. I was careless to act on the norms of the party folk, but I knew from my experience in looking through the glass, so to speak, I could read more into S and T that night. I met a few other people whom I'll never see again, and T asked me if I needed weed. I told yes, and that I've been waiting patiently for it. S said she would give me some on the way home. Though based on the bipolar reactions of their buzzed participation and the large crowd of people, a plan would not be made on where we should meet afterwards. "They're not going to help me" I thought, "They'll go on as if it were every other night after work: Pretending and not paying attention." As time wind down to two o'clock, we walked out to the parking lot, were some slick, who was way out of his league and going all in with S earlier in the evening, followed us and gained interest in her. This was her superpower: Meet guys just for a while and not hear from them again, just like all other humans do. In fact, that's what everybody was doing at the bar and all the other bars and hangouts you could imagine, where everybody, at some excruciating point, tries to fuck one person. Mentally and physically. And with influence of booze changing the psychological perspective, it can make one a greater, more fun person then they are already are without noticing. I was the only one paying attention, not because I needed to get home, but because I wanted to see how much I can rely on my new coworkers, how much charm I can add so I can take their charm and respect in return. Straightforward and not strict. T unlocks his car and S enters the passenger seat. "I'll follow you guys" I say. "Whatever you want to do, babe" S slurred. I would eventually lose track of them on the highway back home. There was no plan. Now, I'm losing my patience with them. It just goes to show that my pretension of social awkwardness and not following whatever the hell these two have or any of the other people I've met during my time in Texas is not good enough that I can only sit back and observe. That we were meant to pretend that this was a good time in our lives to meet, and have fun. But then I realize I'm one of those lost souls looking for a good time to feel isolated. I was getting agitated. Of course, experiencing this was the key term. Fuck everyone and everybody and watch as time goes by and live that moment. No such luck, no luck at all or pot of gold for me. This was a hollow promise. Art by Carnegriff