I've got you fooled. It's the same thing, week in and week out, and the really pathetic thing is that I don't have to say or do a damned thing. You fool yourself. You fool yourself about me, you fool yourself about your friends, you fool yourself about the opposite sex, and you live your life in a pitiful little bubble of self-delusion. But you know the saddest part of all? Even on your best day (which you probably think is your worst,) even on the day when life has smacked you upside your sorry little head and forced its way into your egocentric fairyland, even on the day when you see your sorry shell of a life for what it really is, you still think you've got the rest of us fooled.
You walk up to me and smile and shake my hand and you tell yourself that I'm your friend. You introduce your friends to me as if I'm going to have even the remotest interest in the human detritus that voluntarily associates with you. You tell them that I'm the man. You tell them that I've got your back. You tell them that I'll take care of them, just like I take care of you.
Sure I will. I'll give them the same wan, sarcastic smile that I give you. You know, that smile that you think is a sign of my genuine delight at your presence and concern for your well being. I'll shake their hands and pat them on the back and tell them to go enjoy themselves, just like I do with you. Then I'll think the same thoughts about them that I think about you. I'll think about how sorry your life must be when I see you night after night. I'll think about what a joke it is that I actually know your name, despite every effort to avoid even that much interaction with you. I'll think about how my smarmy, disingenuous smile will put you more at ease and make you feel like coming back again.
In a way, I really do want you to come back again, because watching you dance your way through your personal waltz of failure time and time again is what lines my pockets and keeps me warm. Even so, your money is only barely enough incentive to stand there and watch you mindwarp yourself night after night after night.
Down a few shots. Sure, your life isn't so bad... Drink a few beers. Maybe going to the same boring grind every day has a point. This isn't what your life has come to, this is just a speed bump. Just a little detour on your road to success. Order another shot. These people are really fascinated by what you have to say. Order another beer. The bartender really seems to be digging on your vibe.
I'm sure she's just fascinated by everything you have to say.
I'm sure he's never encountered a patron quite like you before.
You've gotten to know each other.
You have a rapport.
She really cares about you.
He's your friend.
This is like your own little Cheers. Everybody knows your name. Everybody cares...
Order one more shot to keep this buzz going. The girl at the next barstool is really digging you.
Maybe have a quick refill. That guy on the dance floor is just entranced by your moves.
Maybe you should buy her a drink, you know, just to get her attention.
If she really got to know you she'd be all over you. Once you get her listening, she'll be into you for something more than the free booze.
Down another martini. Grind your hips against that guy on the dance floor. You don't look like those other girls. You're not just some drunken slut dry humping a pathetic loser to make yourself feel worthwhile and lovable. No, you're using your smooth moves and the raw power of your personal sexuality as a tool to empower yourself and arouse this masculine creature now gyrating between your thighs. You've snagged a real winner. He can tell that you're not like the rest of these shallow bitches.
Drink another beer. She is totally into you. She's putting her hand on your arm and laughing at your jokes. You have a real connection. You're not just chatting up another tipsy lush. You're taking the first step on that road to finding your soulmate. You just needed to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe we should have one more shot for the road.
Last call. Time to go. I usher you out and stroke your ego because you're drunk enough to think I'm sincere and I'm sober enough to know that if I say something nice you'll do whatever I say, right now. You make cocky, arrogant comments and I laugh and reassure you that you're the man. The truth is that I want nothing more than to shove your pearly white teeth so far down your throat that your gag reflex will start at your kidneys. Not that you'd ever believe that. I've got your back. I'm your pal.
You tell me in a too loud voice that you really think you might be getting laid tonight. She rolls her eyes. Not that she has any moral high ground to stand on. Maybe she won't go home with you tonight, but I've seen her go home with other guys more than a few times. Maybe they just dropped her off at the doorstep. Maybe that hollow smile backed by eyes full of shame and regret comes from some other sad tragedy in her life. Or maybe she's just another bar slut who knows that if she laughs and jokes and flirts and smiles, she won't have to pay for her own intoxication. I suppose that's only fair, because you know that if you pay for those drinks and smile and flirt and laugh at her jokes and tell her how special she is, she'll hop on her back and validate your pathetic existence for one more empty, meaningless night.
It's really nothing different from what she tells herself. Maybe she thinks that if she only goes home with somebody every few months she's somehow more discerning than the girl who picks a new guy every few nights. Maybe she thinks that she's better than the ones who've quit trying to pretend that they're something special. Maybe they're just the honest ones. Maybe someday you'll come to an understanding. Maybe someday you'll work it out and find that connection.
Not tonight though. Tonight you both mess it up. You misread the verbal and the nonverbal cues and go home alone to whatever shell of life you still lead. You go home to the place that made you want to come here in the first place. You go back to a life so wasted and meaningless that you'd rather spend time with life's flotsam and jetsam than actually face what your life--and by extension you--has become...but not before you stagger over to me and try to get a hug and coax a friendly smile. After all...I'm your friend, right?
Keep telling yourself that I'm your friend. Do everything you can to avoid facing the reality that you're nothing to me besides a source of income and case study in the depressing lifestyle of the pitifully self-deluded. Tell yourself that my smile is sincere and not sarcastic. Tell yourself that I really do care about you as a person. Tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself to make it through until closing. Then give me your money and get your shame-soaked, ignorant, despicable carcass the hell out of my bar.
Oh, and I'll see you tomorrow... friend. :)
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