Place: Planet Earth
Time: 11:00 PM
I’m standing in a bar on a weeknight, it could be anywhere. I’m not alone, many people feel the need to break out of the monotony of their daily lives every now and then, if only for a few hours. I’m sipping on a whiskey and Ginger Ale, leaning against the wall as usual. Savoring each sip helps you take it slow. Kind of like life I suppose. I’m savoring so much, in fact, that I fail to notice the commotion going on to my left.
“Get out of here, stop injecting yourself into my situation! Youre such a b___!” A man is yelling at two women, directing his rage at one in particular. I just stand there, staring straight ahead. I examine the patterns on the wall. After all, this isn’t my fight. And it probably isn’t at least one of these women’s.
As the voices rise I gather that it is some sort of dispute over unfaithfulness—someone may or may not have cheated on the other. I don’t know the details, since I’m still staring straight ahead. I notice they eyes of everyone in the bar…staring back at me, past me, at the couple to my left. One man keeps making eyes at me, and all I can do is roll my eyes. Life is hard for everyone, who am I to pass judgment on someone else’s domestic dispute? It isn’t my dispute. And it isn’t anything I can fix. After all, if I could fix others’ relationships, I’d probably have my own, right? Or so my reasoning goes. And I continue with the Ginger Ale and whiskey, looking straight ahead without flinching. I hear a fist slam against the wall and the man in question walks past me, kicking the door open. He’s off into the night, his (now former, I suppose) girlfriend is still seated, smoking s cigarette. I move to the bar, for another. I hear the man who had been looking at me whisper to what I can only assume to be his date.
“I think he’s his friend.”
I give him a look.
“You know that guy?”
“Never seen him. In my life.” Even if I had…what’s it to him? I get my drink and go back to my wall and look out at the bar. The couples, when faced with this domestic disturbance, have redoubled their efforts to be loving to one another. The phones are out for selfies, the hugs are firmer and (one hopes) more meaningful. I guess its a useful social experiment: When faced with love gone wrong, people realize the value of love. Its an odd paradox of living according to others but what would one expect in a world where people measure their own lives by comparing them to others’ on Facebook?
Fifteen minutes later an elderly man stumbles in. Stocking cap with headphones, wearing a long trench coat to the middle of the shins which are covered by rainbow socks. He’s certainly disheveled, might even be a bum, but he’s got a twenty-dollar bill out and ready to drink. Just like everyone else who is…here…on a weeknight. I keep staring ahead but I notice all the eyes now turned on this new arrival. As he stumbles towards a seat across the bar people are whispering. An older man—they might even be the same age—takes out his phone and starts taking a video. I feel like he’s laughing at the man from a position of power; they are of similar ages yet—seemingly—in different positions in life. The stratification makes me sick, so I just keep looking straight ahead of me, trying not to notice the insulting behavior all around me.
The bartender takes a seat next to me and the man next to him asks about our newest visitor. I have to interrupt their conversation, if only for a minute.
“Y’all are sure getting a lot of amusement from sideshows tonight”, nodding at the girl who had been in a domestic dispute just minutes before.
“Yeah, I know that guy. He’s not drunk. He has Parkinson’s disease. That’s why he walks like that. But people think he’s drunk. Like look at that guy, taking a video.”
He takes the words out of my mouth; the judgments people are levelling on one another at this point would shatter even the most optimistic person’s views on humanity and I let him know my feelings. No one has the right to pass judgment on others based on baseless preconceptions.
Five minutes later the video taker orders a drink from the same bartender as he laughs at the old man. “He has Parkinson’s disease. That’s why he walks like that. He isn’t drunk.” The video taker looks shocked…another ten minutes and he’s out the door, ashamed and unable to look anyone in the eye. Before I go, I thank the bartender.
“Nice job tonight. You did well.”