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 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 a woman I really cared about, smiling and holding her hand, knowing that I was moving to 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 by sharing that New York Times link another 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, Hey, what the hell at this point, what’s the dif?. You now know where I work and of course from where all my stories have arisen, and from 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 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 badly I really feel, but who the hell needs all 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!