Columbus. 4th Street. 12:30 AM.
I swore off drinking about three weeks ago. I made it two weeks before a day-long relapse due to an unusual circumstance. I don't get the deets, so I'm not a physical addict in that sense, but when stress levels are shit-hitting-fan-high, my Pavlov brain tells me to drink.
Tonight was different. Tonight I earned it. I'm not going to bother to explain why.
I've been subscribing to the sub for as long as I've mostly made it without alcohol. The reasons I found myself here I might be brave enough to address in some future post.
Long story short: I went out to a bar tonight for the first time since taking the pill, and I didn't go out to meet women. I went out for the beer, and I wound up watching people through the filter of a small red capsule.
First observation: the bars in this part of town are all young people. I'm 37, and suddenly I'm remembering what it was like to be 21. Case in point: some guy comes up and asks me about my dark beer and we have a random conversation about why I'm in Ohio and he lets it slip that he's having a hard time getting his underage friends into the bar. When I say young people, I mean it.
There's one old man here. Old. Old-old. And of course these kids are swarming him to ask questions about this or that. I think it's great.
I'm on beer two and suddenly I take notice of a particularly loud table on the patio. There's some girl standing and leaning across the table to make out with her gay friend in front of everyone for whatever reason. I and everyone else find it entertaining.
Then I notice this guy sitting next to her. I didn't hear him say it clearly, but I pieced it together immediately: "If I told you I was gay, would you make out with me?"
With no hesitation, she comfortably proclaims, "No."
I don't have a good look at this guy until a few minutes later when he stands up and it seems like a bunch of them are starting to part ways. The girl has a pretty face, but you can tell she's thick and a bit strong. Classic fag-hag. The guy, hell, I'd just about think he was gay, and maybe he is and desperately trying to hide it. Or maybe he's not and he's just sad.
Soft, a bit nerdish, no chin. Effeminate. I hear her saying something to him like "You're good, nice to meet you," before also saying, "I'm not giving you my number but I'm sure I'll see you around probably." She makes a face at her friend. I sympathized with her.
He starts to leave and turns and makes it a point to shake hands with some guy and touch a different girl on the shoulder while saying normal things like "Nice to meet you," but with that sick desperation of someone who cares too much. We've all been there. Social anxiety is a bitch, even when you get drunk enough to try to fuck it in the ass.
The sound of a motorcycle starts.
The patio waitress is at the table now, making some comment about how she's going to feel bad "if he dies". The remaining patrons laugh in judgment. One of them says, "I told him," as if that's where the social responsibility ends. She looks at me, as if for approval. Bemused and put-off, I raise an eyebrow.
I finally put it together. The sadcringe dude owns a fucking bike. Not the kind of bike that goes "ching-ching", the kind of bike that goes "vroom-vroom". And he's drunk. And he's hiding his internal sadness. And these people don't actually give a single fuck.
The lack of empathy astounds and disgusts me.
The kid revs his engine and speeds off in a way that only a person who knows how loud they're being can do. He channels his rage at the world through his exhaust.
The remaining few at his former table look at me - me, some random older fuck sitting in the corner, a person they've had zero contact with or prior interest in - as if for (once again) approval.
I did not give it to them.
Submitted July 27, 2018 at 11:59PM by chinagreenelvis https://ift.tt/2LWFbT5
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