The Bar

I sit at the bar, somewhere in the middle of the counter. Sort of like where I sit in real life. On both sides are people. Good people, beautiful people, at-least in how they reveal themselves to me. This may be a microcosm of the society itself. It carries the same din. The sounds of music, of people talking, the server and the served, of orders being given and taken, of drinks and food being served, of tables being cleared. Everything is competing, vying for my frazzled attention. Five big screens in front and another five behind me. Sports on a few, news on others. News of politics, of stock market, interspersed with that all capitalistic tool of advertising. It’s a public square. Shouting match of “buy my wares” abound in those omnipresent commercials. It’s all here. Politics, people, food, advertisements, sports, drinks, music, more people.. and I sit right in the middle of all of it. Alone. It is a microcosm of our society indeed. 

I look around, two young women chatting, engaged deeply in the conversation. Then there is this couple digging half interested in their food. Barely aware of each other’s presence. Likely even avoiding it. That’s why they came here, didn’t they? To get away from each other? 

On the far side a beautiful woman, nursing her drink. The old man next to me, slurping his. Why is the old man here and she there. That’s the luck of the bar and of airplanes and of life. Wrong people next to each other. Such a microcosm of our society this is. 

The Bartender sees it all, notices all, but says nothing and does only as he is told. Sort of like God. Willing and able to provide anything including connections, but waiting for us to tell him what we want or need. Else, he has plenty on his hands.

Is God a Bartender then and the World a big giant Bar? There is everything available. But what do we really do? We just order the same thing that we are used to, over and over again. Most of what is available at the bar we don’t even know. What a travesty. And God the Bartender knows a thing or two about mixing drinks too. He watches helplessly. We have so much noise in our head about what we like and don’t, what we are comfortable with and aren’t. So we walk the same beaten path, over and over again. Never taking the liberty to veer off a bit. To explore, to get lost some. 

My “I wanna get lost some” reverie got interrupted by “do you want another one ?”question from the Bartender. I looked sheepishly at my pale, Pale Ale. Why don’t you make me something this time, I blurted out. Hit me with your speciality. Or, better still, hit me with what you think I need right now. I wanna get lost some. 

He heard me. He smiled. He liked being leaned into. He liked being trusted, at the Bar as in life.