11Second to last chapter! OH NO. IT'S ALMOST OVER.
"Why are you here?"
The question catches me off guard. I look up and stare at the questioner. He stares back boldly, waiting to be answered. I'm not sure how to.
"This is my job."
"Why?"
I set down the glass I'm cleaning. "Because I need to generate some income in order to keep paying my landlord and otherwise survive."
"Why this job? This bar?" he persists.
I can feel my expression suddenly deadpan. "If you're trying to sell me some religion-"
"Nope," he denies swiftly. "I just want to understand. What's the appeal? Drunk people clamoring to be satisfied, loud noises, broken things and puke in the corner-" I shudder, wondering if he's just using it as an example or if I'm really going to have to deal with that sight later on. "-Why are you here?"
"I have absolutely no clue," I answer. "Why don't you live in Chicago? What's so attractive about this city? Why don't you become a scuba diving instructor? Why do we do anything-or not do anything for that matter?" I sigh and go back to cleaning. "I don't know my own reasons. I don't care. All I know is that I'm doing what I'm doing, until something is bound to change."
"That simple of a life?" he asks.
"BARTENDER, I NEED THREE ICE CUBES, STAT! MY PATIENT IS DYING! I CAN'T BRING THIS LIME BACK TO LIFE ON MY OWN!"
I raise my eyebrow at the inquisitive stranger. "Yes. This life is surely what you would call 'simple'."
After assisting my customer in burying her lime in a napkin casket and dropping it to the bottom of an empty glass with a little prayer ceremony, I try to go back to my station. But of course, I cannot. Someone has broken into my sacred bartending area and stolen my nozzle gun. They're spraying various objects and people in the room, yelling "ANGRY BIRDS!"
Emeril wrestles him to the ground and the owner has felt such a disturbance in the force that he actually comes down and follows the two away, lecturing the drunken man about how much money he's going to be shelling out. I can only shake my head.
That kid truly has me wondering now. "Why the hell am I a bartender?"
I'm glad no one answers my question. I can answer it myself.
I slid myself back behind the counter and it feels right. I click into place. I am happy to see people of all backgrounds converging and drinking together, talking about the same things like football or politics. Dancing together to the same songs and laughing. I am happy to be the cause of this. I am happy being a catalyst, however average a catalyst I may be.
I'm happy to be the gateway and gatekeeper to somebody's good time.
That's the only answer I can think of.
And it's a pretty crappy one, isn't it? I'm sure that I wouldn't even get a C+ for that one on a standardized test.
PetalsFromTheForest