| Jun 14, 2016 21:37:28 GMT -5 |
Post by Eduard von Bock on Jun 14, 2016 21:37:28 GMT -5
Routine for 1:15 AM on a Saturday Night [LEON]
There was something strangely beautiful about pausing between drinks to focus on sounds. The rain was still pouring outside late into the night, and with it, all sense of time was completely lost. The pitiful remains of an umbrella that rested against the bars of his stool stood as a personal excuse for not going home. It was another, personal justification that felt fair after yet another long week.
He totally deserved this, and he made sure to tell Leon that at least eight times over the course of the last hour more to convince himself than the bartender. He deserved those five shots and he deserved the next three that were sitting on the table. After all, it was almost part of his routine at this point and had been for a year and a half.
His regular status came with the close proximity of the bar to his apartment and how accessible it was. Honestly, he wasn't sure if it was sad or comforting that he felt more at home there than his own place, but being able to take time out of "real time" helped to ease his nerves and distance himself from his schedules. Initially, it was to avoid his dissertation. And now, it was to escape from work and complain about the minor details that bothered him to no end. Why did that one woman from Human Resources keep thinking he was some sort of repairman? He didn't know how to fix a water cooler. How did people continue to fall for spam ads? They were so obvious. The complaints were as trivial and surface value as his excuses for coming back, for he always had to have one. The rain, the traffic, a fictional wife he made up once; they were as transparent as the underlying issues he repressed on some of his worst evenings there. The bartender had seen him cry more than his parents ever had. But still, he never acknowledged that those incidents ever happened when he returned.
Venting about the small things helped. He didn't address why, but it did. It made the world feel more real; like he was just another guy with an annoying job because of nuisances with coworkers and executives. It felt so much more tangible. The growing anxieties about what he was doing and at the expense of whom seemed distant with petty complaints. It was just another thing to separate himself from the implications of the job at the end of the day.
Another two shots were gone and the sound of rain outside lightened with them. The storm was coming to an end; but he had consumed just enough vodka to start speaking without reserve. His excuse was gone, but it was so weak anyways that he didn't care too much anymore.
"You want to know what happened this week?" For a moment, he removed his glasses to rub his eyes, feeling both inebriated and exhausted. "I didn't sleep for two whole days. I... I didn't even have a real excuse this time. I was sick of work so I brought all my secondary characters up to the same level as my main." It sounded so stupid in retrospect, so he took a break from his story to laugh at himself. His life sounded so normal when he watered it down like this... and it had been when he started frequenting the French style bar. If he closed his eyes hard enough with just enough vodka in his system, he could still pretend that nothing changed; like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.
"So, work was more exhausting than usual. You know? I crashed on the bus, missed my stop, and woke up with my bus pass and all the change in my pocket gone." The last glass on his tab was right within his grasp and he debated whether one more was a good idea or not. "Isn't that a joke?" Better judgement came over him, and he withdrew his hand, checking his wrist for the time. Forty-five minutes remained before closing and Eduard was not ready to find his way home. Saturdays were days to look forward to; for sharing stories that rarely held any weight.
His hands served as a cushion while he slumped down in his seat, the vodka just starting to color his cheeks. Unaware and focused on his story, his elbow bumped the shot glass. The vodka spilled onto the table, further ruining the sleeve of his best, work suit. He would have to get it dry cleaned before Monday.
"Oh my God..."
He totally deserved this, and he made sure to tell Leon that at least eight times over the course of the last hour more to convince himself than the bartender. He deserved those five shots and he deserved the next three that were sitting on the table. After all, it was almost part of his routine at this point and had been for a year and a half.
His regular status came with the close proximity of the bar to his apartment and how accessible it was. Honestly, he wasn't sure if it was sad or comforting that he felt more at home there than his own place, but being able to take time out of "real time" helped to ease his nerves and distance himself from his schedules. Initially, it was to avoid his dissertation. And now, it was to escape from work and complain about the minor details that bothered him to no end. Why did that one woman from Human Resources keep thinking he was some sort of repairman? He didn't know how to fix a water cooler. How did people continue to fall for spam ads? They were so obvious. The complaints were as trivial and surface value as his excuses for coming back, for he always had to have one. The rain, the traffic, a fictional wife he made up once; they were as transparent as the underlying issues he repressed on some of his worst evenings there. The bartender had seen him cry more than his parents ever had. But still, he never acknowledged that those incidents ever happened when he returned.
Venting about the small things helped. He didn't address why, but it did. It made the world feel more real; like he was just another guy with an annoying job because of nuisances with coworkers and executives. It felt so much more tangible. The growing anxieties about what he was doing and at the expense of whom seemed distant with petty complaints. It was just another thing to separate himself from the implications of the job at the end of the day.
Another two shots were gone and the sound of rain outside lightened with them. The storm was coming to an end; but he had consumed just enough vodka to start speaking without reserve. His excuse was gone, but it was so weak anyways that he didn't care too much anymore.
"You want to know what happened this week?" For a moment, he removed his glasses to rub his eyes, feeling both inebriated and exhausted. "I didn't sleep for two whole days. I... I didn't even have a real excuse this time. I was sick of work so I brought all my secondary characters up to the same level as my main." It sounded so stupid in retrospect, so he took a break from his story to laugh at himself. His life sounded so normal when he watered it down like this... and it had been when he started frequenting the French style bar. If he closed his eyes hard enough with just enough vodka in his system, he could still pretend that nothing changed; like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.
"So, work was more exhausting than usual. You know? I crashed on the bus, missed my stop, and woke up with my bus pass and all the change in my pocket gone." The last glass on his tab was right within his grasp and he debated whether one more was a good idea or not. "Isn't that a joke?" Better judgement came over him, and he withdrew his hand, checking his wrist for the time. Forty-five minutes remained before closing and Eduard was not ready to find his way home. Saturdays were days to look forward to; for sharing stories that rarely held any weight.
His hands served as a cushion while he slumped down in his seat, the vodka just starting to color his cheeks. Unaware and focused on his story, his elbow bumped the shot glass. The vodka spilled onto the table, further ruining the sleeve of his best, work suit. He would have to get it dry cleaned before Monday.
"Oh my God..."
aeron at thq
