This is what I was asking myself this afternoon as I drank my beer and literally bit my hand to keep myself from laughing too hard at the guy sitting next to me having an "episode?"
How to begin...
I was walking down the street when I decided I wanted to watch football. This is no easy task. There is no great abundance of sports bars. Bars that have TVs advertise "We show NFL games on Sunday" because it is a big deal that a bar does. However, that is a different story for a different day as I can't bring myself to write about how awful it is not being able to readily watch and celebrate the Bears when they had such a poor showing today...
I walk into the Elixir. This is a great bar in the Mission District. It's a bit divey, a bit neighborhoody (is that a word?). It has a rich history, an eclectic crowd, chill bartenders, just everything you'd or I'd hope for in a bar. But it is by no means a sports bar and I wasn't expecting a typical sports crowd, but since it had advertised NFL games here I figured people would be kind of into the games. Initially I was just passing by and saw a TV and wanted to check the score of the Jets vs. Pats game. When I did this I spotted an open seat right at the corner of the bar nearest the door. I figured I watch just a little so I walked in and sat down and waited for the bartender to take my order. I glanced over my left shoulder and caught the eye of a very visibly drunk guy who said "Hey there pretty pants." That's exactly what he said. The woman sitting next to him looked at me then him and harshly grabbed his face and being whispering sternly into it "Why are you being stupid. What are you doing? Why are you a little jerk. You are not going to be stupid. You are going to behave. why are you so stupid? Why are you a stupid jerk..." She said a slew of other things all in that vein and I didn't care much. I ignored them and waited for the beer I ordered.
I'm not too long into watching the game when the "couple" next to me begins to have the most peculiar conversation I've ever had the discomfort of hearing. First, it quickly becomes apparent the two are not a couple. They have some history because the girl reminds the guy several times "I've known you so long now. I've known you so many years now. We've known each other years and years..." Second, it becomes apparent that they are much more drunk than I initially thought because she and he are slurring badly "Ish own you, ishownyouooo soooo ong now.. long time." Third, they begin to, for lack of a better phrase, have a pissing contest of who had the greater sob story in terms of their past love lives. Who was more in love more with their ex, who's ex loved them more which led into who understood who's pain better or who couldn't possibly understand the other's pain because of the undetermined who had the greater sob story.
The chick rattles on about her ex...Paul. The guy keeps talking about his ex, Sarah. They are both talking and not listening to one another which makes them talk louder which when you're watching a football game in a bar not meant for football games...well it's hard to ignore them. At one point the girl is gushing on "Paul...he called me, he called me a few months ago to tell me I was his life's greatest love, he's never loved anyone more, and that he just wanted me to wake up every morning with a smile on my face and be happy because he wanted me to just be happy....and," the guy interjects "And where is Paul now?" she tries to answer - and his back is facing the bar so he throws the back of his head on the bar and lowers the octave of his voice as he raises the decibel of it "Where is Paul now? W-h-e-r-e i-s h-e n-o-w? WHERE IS PAUL NOW?" and to stop this childish display she shouts "You know where Paul is now? You know what happened? A woman, an heiress offered him $5 million to give her an heir. He left me because how could he turn down $5 million (at this point my hand is bleeding I'm biting it so hard in an attempt to not laugh and I'm thinking if I were Paul I might take $5.00 and call it a fair payment to not be with her...). He didn't know how involved he'd have to be in having an heir with her..." She seriously is saying this very seriously. In fact she repeated this story about 5 times kind of like she was trying to convince herself that this was true. That yes, heiresses are walking around San Francisco offering hipster guys from the mission district $5 million for a sperm donation. Incredible; a new career idea for me perhaps?
As she goes on and on about knowing such a great love, that a price tag was actually put on it ( maybe she watched indecent proposal one too many times?) he cuts her off because he wasn't listening or caring. "Why do you cut me out of your life? Why do you isolate me?" and he breaks into a chorus of "Why do you isolate me..." except at this point he starts to sob. Like a little kid whose dad just yelled at you and as punishment made you watch as he killed your puppy via stepping on and crushing its head; sobbing. She gathered him in her arms and said "You know I love you. You tell me you love me and I don't isolate you." And he sobbed harder. There is about 10 minutes of sobbing going on when the bartender comes over and sees two drunk people sobbing and blabbing incoherently about their profound love for other people, each other and the universe...and me with tears streaming down my face and a pool of blood from my hand which is at this point bitten in half and says calmly "Is everything OK over here?" She looks up "He's having a bad day." I am speechless thinking "Bad day? You're both having a life that only a freight train to the face can fix." but when the bartender looks in my direction all I can do is bite my hand harder and shrug my shoulder. The bartender glaces at my empty glass, at me, my empty glass again, the couple sobbing and says to me, "The rest of your drinks are on me."
The girl has soothed the guy into a silent sobbing when she actually tugs at my shirt and points toward the pile of cocktail napkins in front of me. She gives me a little frown and all I can think to say to her is "No fucking way." This whole time the atmosphere is a jovial one. Everyone around us is watching football - uninterrupted and my dumbass is stuck in the corner seat nearest the door, the only one that was open and now left subjected to this odd display of what I don't know. Everyone is watching football. Everyone is engrossed in Brett Favre, a man that will play an entire game of football with all his ribs broken and puncturing his internal organs without as much as a grimace and here's me, now contemplating a career in heir womb rentals along with this guy who has been sitting next to me for over an hour crying, correction, heaving sloppy tears all over the place...because he feels "Isolated?" by his jerk friend??
She gathers her things and him and says "Come on, I just noticed the time and you're going to be late for work. You can't be late for work. You have to keep your life in order and you have to get to work."
Seriously? Where the fuck does this guy work? If it's a suicide hot line I quit life.
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