I Walked Into A Bar And Nothing Remotely Amusing Happened To Me
What kind of a bar is this?
I walked into a bar.
“I’ll have the usual,” I said, cozying up to the counter.
“Who the hell are you?!” the bartender said.
“Oh, right,” I said. “I forgot I’ve never been here before. No need to be rude.”
“I’m sorry,” the bartender said. “I’ve just never seen a talking pig before.”
“What?” I said. “I’m not a pig!”
“Oh my god,” the bartender said. “I am so sorry. Here, have a free drink.”
He slid over a glass of water. I sighed and took a long sip before ordering a gin and tonic chaser. The truth is, of course, I am a talking pig. And this kind of interaction is par for the course. Now the bartender is going to have an amusing anecdote to tell patrons for the rest of his life. And what do I get? A glass of tap water and a crude reminder of reality.
A lot of people like to go out to bars to forget their troubles. I go and can’t help but be reminded of them. But what can I do? I’m addicted to alcohol. Of course, try telling my therapist that. She’s convinced that I’m addicted to the attention I get when I walk into a bar. Maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. The undeniable truth…
