Bottoms Up
The bar inside the hotel provides a still environment for its guests that contrasts with the activity of life on the outside. In here, calendars are unnecessary. The clock over the bar reflects “Bar Time.” There are no windows in the bar. Consequently without windows there is no natural light, nor any distractions from watching people outside walking to work. The plants are all made of plastic and the fireplace is fueled by gas through metal logs. The weather inside is set at a constant temperature which never changes.
The TV over the bar is the window to the world but the volume is never turned up. You sit and watch mouths move in silence, with images of the world outside as a back drop. What goes on outside in the world is not important. It is only a distraction. The policy on the TV is "If you want to watch TV, then you should go home and drink."
Change is not welcome in a bar. It requires the customers to make a different decision, or effort, and take action to accommodate it. If the bar changes the house brands or the songs on the jukebox, people complain about it because everyone has to move to adjust to it. It is too much trouble. Change the prices bartender hears about it. Rearrange the furniture, the customers complain about it. Customers always smoke the same brand of cigarettes, drink the same cocktail and sit on the same stool. They live a life they can count on. One that they know will not require anything strenuous or demanding. Changing anything around in the bar disrupts the very reason why a patron chooses to make this his regular spot. They are more comfortable in a photo rather than a motion picture.
A bar is not just a place for conviviality and relaxation it also provides an atmosphere to escape the noise in the world or in your thoughts. People like me find sitting on a stool, staring down into the deep well of my drink gives me time to reflect on something or to just pass the hours. It doesn’t require anything to do. Just gaze down into the glass and think. I like to watch the ice cubes melt from ice into water until the chemical balance of water and whiskey is just right for that first sip. When the time is right, an impulse will tell me to raise the glass to my lips and sip.
I am quiet as I raise the glass to my lips and tilting my head back, I see my reflection in the mirror along the back bar as I swallow. The man in the mirror looking back at me is the reflected image of who I am today. My hair color and the lines on my face show the wages of life that made me become the man I have am today. In each line and crease in my face is a memory of what has brought me to this moment. Memories of joy, sadness or lingering regret occupy my mind and become revealed in the face in the glass. But this drink before me has the power to transform that moment into a new day and another man. Lifting that glass again I know that soon, the man in the mirror will shortly become someone else. Perhaps, someone younger or more handsome, someone more interesting or someone without disappointment or regret: anyone but the man’s face in the mirror looking back at me. A mirror is not a window. Unlike a window, it is not allowing me you to look forward to the world: instead I see only my face and all that is behind me. The past is behind me. The past contains the loves, challenges and excitement of my life and now as I sit at the bar I know it is gone. The image in the glass is what is left. The mirror becomes my one-sided vision of life. I am looking backward while staring ahead.
Alcohol is a sacred potion. The word “Whiskey” comes from Medieval Latin and means "The Water of Life". The powerful alchemy of blood and alcohol creates a feeling of intoxication that magically transforms my life as it slowly flows through my bloodstream. Reaching every possible extremity and organ it has the power to change both myself and time itself. "Hey bartender," I say, as I push my money in front of my empty glass "give me another one here." The alcohol blood count has begun to rise and with each level in the count a new feeling flows through my veins lifting my mood as I seek the right mixture of blood and alcohol that gives me the balance of ease and comfort. When I reach it, I will strive to maintain that balance all day. Some drinkers blow right by that place to oblivion. They usually don’t make the last call because by 2AM they are dead drunk someplace passed out on a floor or couch.
In the morning I gather with the faithful at the bar to receive the potent elixir at 6AM when it opens. Soon the allegory of transmutation for the day will begin. Seated on stools, we are lined up in a row leaning against the bar. Leaning forward with our hands folded and arms on the edge of the bar, we wait for the bartender to deliver the first drink of the day.
A cocktail napkin sits under our chins while smoke rises up from the slow burning cigarettes to create a smokey atmosphere of being in a holy ritual. Along the back bar in the little alcoves are an array of amber colored bottles sparking and shining from the light behind them. This is the alter which contains the transformed blood that fulfills the promise of washing away the sins of the world. It also washes away my sins and memories. Is it any wonder why with such promise that we line up to consume a poison that shortens rather than lengthens our lives?
The bartender places a snifter on the bar and pours the brandy into the little snifter before him. The little bowl, sitting upon a glass stem becomes the receptacle for the consecrated alcohol that has been transformed from wine to brandy and brandy to cognac. Each step in the transformation process to turn wine into brandy increases the alcohol content from 12% to a more potent 40%. Lighting a match, he ignites the combustible libation and from it, a tongue of a cool blue flame appears. Raising the fire above the head of the communicants at the bar and he would proclaim, "Behold the lamb of God." "Behold He who washes away the sins of the world or at least helps you to forget them." "Amen," the chorus of the faithful responded. With laughter, the house bought the next round of drinks.
My memory is jogged as I start to feel slightly intoxicated as the bloodstream delivers the spiritual potion to my soul. The lubrication of my muscles and nerves releases a feeling of ease and comfort. The noise between my ears begins to quiet as I slip down into a state of being that has no noticeable beginning or end. Alcohol makes thoughts of chores or appointments evaporate. It helps me to forget what I didn’t do or what I am supposed to do. It makes time itself disappear. Now I have crossed the invisible line into the illusion of: this is how I was always meant to feel. Time is no longer a factor in determining what you do or when. It is erased by the question, "Do I have time for another drink?" Of course, you do. The very question guarantees the affirmative. Time becomes pliable and it can't place restrictions anymore to govern your life. Time is what you want it to be. Words like “late” or “early” have no meaning in here. Without light, the day is like night. Time becomes deflated and unimportant. It can no longer rule your life with the fear of death because death is no longer a victory for time, but one for those who desire it.
The euphoria generated by a couple of cocktails, allows memories of better or sad times to bubble up from the wellspring of my life and to help overcome the hangover from yesterday’s drinking. These drinks, allow for the self- indulgent lamentation of the self-pity necessary to generate deep emotions in myself as I pass the time sitting at the bar languishing in the deep feelings of anguish, disappointment and regret that help make me feel alive. Wandering back to through those memories, I discover that the facts of my life never change only the narrative does. Memories are impressions not fixed facts like a monument. The story of my life can be retold over and over again and with each telling, dull stories become more interesting, sad ones more poignant thus making the teller more colorful in this gray life. The narrative of the mood at the moment is how I feel right now and not the facts. As your drink lifts your spirit, you begin to feel more personable and more communicative. The walls around you dissolve and you lose your inhibitions. You begin to invite the people around you into your life to share a drink and to tell them those stories. Talking to a stranger sitting next to you, the listener suddenly becomes someone, who helps you walk out of the cave you just inhabited to enjoy yourself, as you sit by the river waiting to cross.
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