Well, dear reader, try as he might to put out a proper post this morning… or a typical blog post anyway where he reflects on the highlights and lowlights going on in Barland… your friendly bartender just can’t bring himself to do it. For there’s just too much damn screaming going on, screaming inside his head, where the “F” word is bouncing around as though it were a truck stop. Or a locker room. Or God forbid a reality show absent the censor! And ironically the post he was going to write had everything to do with that word, about how some customer’s liberal use of it, loudly this past Wednesday night, caused him to pay his check much sooner than expected. Gee, ain’t life funny?
So why can’t I get the “F” word out of my head? Well, dammit (here’s why)!
I was going to try and hold all of that in til the actual day when it happened, but that kinda’ felt dishonest, like sitting here acting like all was well while a Category Five was swirling around my apartment. And the windows were cracking. Or like dating someone I really cared about, smiling and holding hands warmly, knowing I was moving to fucking Iceland on Tuesday. It’s just not right. Unless you have the heart of our fucking landlord. (I told you that word was running unchecked in my head!)
But also in sharing that New York Times link a turning point has been reached (not to take myself too seriously) as the cat’s now out of the bag with regards to my identity. But I figure, what the hell! As you now not only know where I work and from where all my stories have arisen, but where I’ll sadly watch the closing of it’s doors. Doors through which people have passed since the Roaring Twenties!
So what next? I hear my regulars asking in earnest. In other words, what’s going to happen to “Behind the Stick” and this blog? Well I’ll sure as hell try to keep the thing going at least as best I can under these circumstances, so I sure as hell hope you’ll stop for an occasional pour. And I do mean occasional, as there’s bound to be some kind of lull until we reopen. And we will reopen!
That said, I could go on and get a little misty by dragging this out and sharing how bad I really feel, but who the hell needs all of that with their morning coffee? Not me. That’s like someone at Happy Hour talking about his divorce. So I’ll just sign off.
Being a guy whose glass is half full (be it shot glass, pint glass, or snifter), let’s do a little twist if I may with the title. Let’s not think of that R.I.P. as “Rest In Peace” on a head stone, but rather “Reopen In Prosperity” on a new awning.
See you down the road, dear reader, and please keep the faith!