I love having a few drinks and letting the rants flow.
A lonesome warehouse worker, miles from home, living in a hotel, to make a new start.
He plays the jukebox night after night, singing to himself, taking home a sandwich, to the hotel.
He tries to engage everyone he meets.
He just doesn’t fit in.
He tries too hard.
He sings to the music.
No one wants to hear him sing.
People go to a bar, to rant.
Not to sing.
Another lonesome guy.
Single, works every day on a garbage truck.
Has a few beers.
Sits with the locals.
Never says much.
Just smiles, listens, and goes home.
I wonder what his rant would be.
I doubt if that is something any of us will ever hear.
Hard working, hard drinking, a man’s man.
You know, the macho type.
Rants his ass off.
We all know where he stands.
We all know what he is all about.
He is self righteous, outrageous, outgoing, loud and opinionated.
Yes, he could be considered obnoxious, but he is one of the local celebrities.
He includes anyone and everyone, acknowledging their presence, engaging their attention and finding a common bond.
Somehow, we bar patrons feel better when he is around…. ranting.
He is the patron saint of the bar flies, of those who would like to rant, but have never allowed ourselves to be exposed, for the world to see.
When the walking and working wounded come together, somehow, we are afraid to express our feelings.
We need a hero, to do that for us.
And so the world turns: made up of those who rant and those who wish they could.
Those who go through the motions every day, and never find the courage to seize an opportunity.
Those who prefer the routine of the same job for 30 years, no matter how dissatisfied they are, and those who find happiness and satisfaction in those 30 years.
One of these nights, I am going to approach these silent members of the local scene and ask them how they feel about their lives, their dreams and aspirations.
I don’t expect them to answer honestly.
It would hurt too much.