Thursday, March 06, 2008

Weekday Nights are the Weirdest

The night is impossible and I don’t want to go home. And I need to go home. And I’m trying to adjust to the fact that with the new schedule I have I now have three days of non-working a week. A boon surely, except that I just don’t know what to do with so much freedom, so I head to the bar on a Wednesday night to drink and make merry or to a least meet Mary if there is one about.

The bar is empty when I walk in, dragging with me a friend in the new teacher who replaced me at my old job. We both drink hard spirits and talk in the silence of the bar. I talk to H behind the bar who is spinning the music, afro-pop when we walk in, and a mash of other things. As the new teacher leaves H and I discuss the rhythms of our hearts.

He names a new band and we listen. I name a new band and he goes to find it. We keep this up as the bar suddenly is more full, people we know have started to funnel down. I feel rude but I keep up with my musical game because it is important to me. To us. To this space and time. But the tequila that is floating in my belly drives me eventually away to sit with friends who are going through various stages of their own lives.

I try to listen to the conversation. And I realize something as I do. I’ve truly come to dislike some young people. Hardly even thirty and already crotchety and set in my ways.

I reflect on this as I listen to the conversation.

“And than it was like, oh my god, you know.”

“Ya, I know. Then what.”

“Like, you know, whatever.”

Kill me, I think.

It’s not youth though. I can appreciate youth. H is at least six years my junior and I love his company. And there are others who are younger than I who I appreciate just as much. No, I hate insipidness. And there seems to be so much of it floating around these days. Maybe it’s the new visa regulations keeping out anyone interesting, anyone with a past life, anyone with stories. Now all we get are the brainwashed perfect groupies who are coming to Korea for a little cash and to travel around. I really dislike the new crowd.

I drink more tequila and decide I’m leaving when the Musician walks through the door. I give him a hug, my savior, a life line, someone I can relate to. We talk and drink together and finally we are joined by the Em who has come to wait out the long wait for family coming in from afar. The Musician has written new music and I give him cords to pair it with trying to think of something upbeat.

And he sings.

“There really is no one else, only twelve ex-girlfriends, the ex-wife and you….La la la la labia…”

Anyone who can work labia into a course is a brilliant musician. Em and I laugh and clap as the young girl who talked earlier of “likes” and “gods” becomes still and quiet observing us with the air one normally reserves for the patients locked up in the ward. She’ll make a fine Nurse Ratchet someday, I think to myself.

Em and I continue to laugh and clap and appreciate the Musician and his musical irony.

The night fills with more tequila and eventually the Russian stops by without his camera.

“You!” he exclaims.

“You.” I say back. He claps me in a bear hug and drags me to the bar.

“Tequila!” he calls out and it’s tequila all around. And around.

“Where have you been?” I ask him.

“Oh, you know…working. My friend here says I’m a spy for the KGB.”

“And are you?”

“No, no, of course not. I’m just busy.”

“What are you working on?” I ask him.

“It’s a secret, you know. I can’t talk about it.”

“So you are working for the KGB.”

“Bartender, tequila all around.”

And again.

And again.

It stays like that. Impossible to dissect, entirely probably, wholly Korean in the middle of the week.

1 comment:

GeologyJoe said...

Sounds like, ya know, the night ended up, like fun and stuff. whatever. ;)