The King of the Dead
Member
Thread Starter
Join Date: Dec 2012
Location: Midwest
Posts: 1
The King of the Dead
I run a bar. I know, if there were another option, I'd take it. There isn't. If there is anyplace sadder than a bar in the rust-belt Midwest, I haven't seen it. It's Christmas. I'm selling turkey dinner and eggnog to the regulars. Neither is selling well. There are a few who will stop in, have a couple of glasses of Eggnog and go home. They have jobs and families to go home to. They are not not my subjects.
My subjects were once in these ranks, but no longer. They eschew Eggnog: too expensive, too slow, too cheerful. They stick to beer. And no thanks to the turkey dinner, all trimmings included. Later I'll fix them sandwich. Easier to manage and cheaper. I don't usually charge, or I pull their beer from a keg of Blitz I get from the wholesaler. I get it cheap when it's expired. I've been able to scrape by on the still-employed, though they are slowly joining the ranks of the dwindlers.
The dwindlers are my subjects. I rule them with firm but generous hand. Mark, once a foreman, and now going on 5 years of unemployment, is not unusual. He is late middle-age, a decent sort, but unable to do more than wish the plant will reopen. The time when he might have moved to a more prosperous area, or gotten a new skill, has passed. Though he is hard up against it, he is luckier than most. He has a small payment from the VA for a service disability, and occasionally does a little painting. I let him run a tab; at 250 a month, giving him Blitz, I make a few dollars. The food is a loss, but I would have to throw most of it out.
Carl is his one-time boss and friend. They come in together. I don't know what keeps Carl afloat, but he nurses his beer and does not accept a sandwich on the house. The women are varied: Lottie is a faded beauty who once, in a surprisingly genteel and roundabout way, offered me the world's oldest trade. I made as if I couldn't, because it was bad for business, and that it make for an awkward situation, but the truth is that she no longer had much to trade. Her lifestyle had robbed her of what was once her greatest asset. Now she helps me some for a few dollars, under the table: bussing, cleaning up, and sometimes kitchen prep. Though is useless as a waitress because she cannot add nor subtract, on the nights she is working she does not get drunk, and is helpful cajoling the boozers when it is time to leave. When she has been drinking, I usually cajole her to leave, and without my company. But she is a decent sort, and I have known her since 7th grade; some nights I let her sleep in the office.
I am not immune to the absurdity of an alcoholic running a bar. Again, had I a better offer, I would take it. But I have lived here all but two years of my life, and cannot see how to change my lot. Besides, my subjects rely on me. I know them, and I know way they need. I know how to manage their broken lives, and at the very least I see that they eat. Heavy rests the head that wears the crown.
But their numbers are dwindling slowly. They die, they wind up in the county care facility, or if they are lucky, the VA home. They are not replaced; young people do not come to this town. Young people leave this town. Even the community college has closed two of its campuses.
The day will come when I must abdicate this throne. I am not sure where I will go. The days when I feel as if I might rejoin their ranks come more frequently now. I stared into a glass of Scotch for 15 minutes tonight. I almost tasted the eggnog after I added the rum. I caught myself, but just in time. On the day that I stumble, I will lose my crown.
My subjects were once in these ranks, but no longer. They eschew Eggnog: too expensive, too slow, too cheerful. They stick to beer. And no thanks to the turkey dinner, all trimmings included. Later I'll fix them sandwich. Easier to manage and cheaper. I don't usually charge, or I pull their beer from a keg of Blitz I get from the wholesaler. I get it cheap when it's expired. I've been able to scrape by on the still-employed, though they are slowly joining the ranks of the dwindlers.
The dwindlers are my subjects. I rule them with firm but generous hand. Mark, once a foreman, and now going on 5 years of unemployment, is not unusual. He is late middle-age, a decent sort, but unable to do more than wish the plant will reopen. The time when he might have moved to a more prosperous area, or gotten a new skill, has passed. Though he is hard up against it, he is luckier than most. He has a small payment from the VA for a service disability, and occasionally does a little painting. I let him run a tab; at 250 a month, giving him Blitz, I make a few dollars. The food is a loss, but I would have to throw most of it out.
Carl is his one-time boss and friend. They come in together. I don't know what keeps Carl afloat, but he nurses his beer and does not accept a sandwich on the house. The women are varied: Lottie is a faded beauty who once, in a surprisingly genteel and roundabout way, offered me the world's oldest trade. I made as if I couldn't, because it was bad for business, and that it make for an awkward situation, but the truth is that she no longer had much to trade. Her lifestyle had robbed her of what was once her greatest asset. Now she helps me some for a few dollars, under the table: bussing, cleaning up, and sometimes kitchen prep. Though is useless as a waitress because she cannot add nor subtract, on the nights she is working she does not get drunk, and is helpful cajoling the boozers when it is time to leave. When she has been drinking, I usually cajole her to leave, and without my company. But she is a decent sort, and I have known her since 7th grade; some nights I let her sleep in the office.
I am not immune to the absurdity of an alcoholic running a bar. Again, had I a better offer, I would take it. But I have lived here all but two years of my life, and cannot see how to change my lot. Besides, my subjects rely on me. I know them, and I know way they need. I know how to manage their broken lives, and at the very least I see that they eat. Heavy rests the head that wears the crown.
But their numbers are dwindling slowly. They die, they wind up in the county care facility, or if they are lucky, the VA home. They are not replaced; young people do not come to this town. Young people leave this town. Even the community college has closed two of its campuses.
The day will come when I must abdicate this throne. I am not sure where I will go. The days when I feel as if I might rejoin their ranks come more frequently now. I stared into a glass of Scotch for 15 minutes tonight. I almost tasted the eggnog after I added the rum. I caught myself, but just in time. On the day that I stumble, I will lose my crown.
Join Date: Aug 2011
Location: "I'm not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost ..."
Posts: 5,273
Beautiful writing. Sad and haunting, but well written nonetheless.
So there's this:
Do you plan to do anything to avoid this?
So there's this:
The days when I feel as if I might rejoin their ranks come more frequently now.
Member
Join Date: Jan 2011
Posts: 1,243
Wow... that reminds me of Billy Joel's the Piano Man...
It's not just the rustbelt... it's the bar scene and alcohol that is a depressant. I owned a large nightclub for 9 years and what they say is true. Nothing good happens after midnight.
A career change isn't in your future? I got out...
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday the regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me Makin' love to his tonic and gin
He says, Son can you play me a memory I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete When I wore a younger man's clothes
[Chorus] La la la de de da la la de de da da dum
Sing us a song, you're the piano man sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says Bill, I believe this is killing me
As the smile ran away from his face
Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place
Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talking with Davy who's still in the navy
And probably will be for life
And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinking alone
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright.
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday,
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see
To forget about life for awhile.
And the piano sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say "Man, what are you doin' here?"
It's not just the rustbelt... it's the bar scene and alcohol that is a depressant. I owned a large nightclub for 9 years and what they say is true. Nothing good happens after midnight.
A career change isn't in your future? I got out...
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday the regular crowd shuffles in
There's an old man sitting next to me Makin' love to his tonic and gin
He says, Son can you play me a memory I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete When I wore a younger man's clothes
[Chorus] La la la de de da la la de de da da dum
Sing us a song, you're the piano man sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says Bill, I believe this is killing me
As the smile ran away from his face
Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place
Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he's talking with Davy who's still in the navy
And probably will be for life
And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinking alone
Sing us a song, you're the piano man
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright.
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday,
And the manager gives me a smile
'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see
To forget about life for awhile.
And the piano sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say "Man, what are you doin' here?"
Administrator
Join Date: Apr 2007
Location: Australia
Posts: 211,380
Welcome RustBelt 
I agree with Soberlicious - great writing
She asks a great question tho - do you have a plan?
One of the worst things for me was watching my life disintegrate around me, almost in slo-mo...
watching like a rabbit caught in the headlights on an oncoming road train...
and...not doing anything about it.
It doesn't have to be that way RB
D
I agree with Soberlicious - great writing
She asks a great question tho - do you have a plan?
One of the worst things for me was watching my life disintegrate around me, almost in slo-mo...
watching like a rabbit caught in the headlights on an oncoming road train...
and...not doing anything about it.
It doesn't have to be that way RB
D
Member
Join Date: Jan 2009
Location: Living in Today!
Posts: 3,944
Originally Posted by RustBelt51 
I run a bar. I know, if there were another option, I'd take it. There isn't. If there is anyplace sadder than a bar in the rust-belt Midwest, I haven't seen it. It's Christmas. I'm selling turkey dinner and eggnog to the regulars. Neither is selling well. There are a few who will stop in, have a couple of glasses of Eggnog and go home. They have jobs and families to go home to. They are not not my subjects.
My subjects were once in these ranks, but no longer. They eschew Eggnog: too expensive, too slow, too cheerful. They stick to beer. And no thanks to the turkey dinner, all trimmings included. Later I'll fix them sandwich. Easier to manage and cheaper. I don't usually charge, or I pull their beer from a keg of Blitz I get from the wholesaler. I get it cheap when it's expired. I've been able to scrape by on the still-employed, though they are slowly joining the ranks of the dwindlers.
The dwindlers are my subjects. I rule them with firm but generous hand. Mark, once a foreman, and now going on 5 years of unemployment, is not unusual. He is late middle-age, a decent sort, but unable to do more than wish the plant will reopen. The time when he might have moved to a more prosperous area, or gotten a new skill, has passed. Though he is hard up against it, he is luckier than most. He has a small payment from the VA for a service disability, and occasionally does a little painting. I let him run a tab; at 250 a month, giving him Blitz, I make a few dollars. The food is a loss, but I would have to throw most of it out.
Carl is his one-time boss and friend. They come in together. I don't know what keeps Carl afloat, but he nurses his beer and does not accept a sandwich on the house. The women are varied: Lottie is a faded beauty who once, in a surprisingly genteel and roundabout way, offered me the world's oldest trade. I made as if I couldn't, because it was bad for business, and that it make for an awkward situation, but the truth is that she no longer had much to trade. Her lifestyle had robbed her of what was once her greatest asset. Now she helps me some for a few dollars, under the table: bussing, cleaning up, and sometimes kitchen prep. Though is useless as a waitress because she cannot add nor subtract, on the nights she is working she does not get drunk, and is helpful cajoling the boozers when it is time to leave. When she has been drinking, I usually cajole her to leave, and without my company. But she is a decent sort, and I have known her since 7th grade; some nights I let her sleep in the office.
I am not immune to the absurdity of an alcoholic running a bar. Again, had I a better offer, I would take it. But I have lived here all but two years of my life, and cannot see how to change my lot. Besides, my subjects rely on me. I know them, and I know way they need. I know how to manage their broken lives, and at the very least I see that they eat. Heavy rests the head that wears the crown.
But their numbers are dwindling slowly. They die, they wind up in the county care facility, or if they are lucky, the VA home. They are not replaced; young people do not come to this town. Young people leave this town. Even the community college has closed two of its campuses.
The day will come when I must abdicate this throne. I am not sure where I will go. The days when I feel as if I might rejoin their ranks come more frequently now. I stared into a glass of Scotch for 15 minutes tonight. I almost tasted the eggnog after I added the rum. I caught myself, but just in time. On the day that I stumble, I will lose my crown.
My subjects were once in these ranks, but no longer. They eschew Eggnog: too expensive, too slow, too cheerful. They stick to beer. And no thanks to the turkey dinner, all trimmings included. Later I'll fix them sandwich. Easier to manage and cheaper. I don't usually charge, or I pull their beer from a keg of Blitz I get from the wholesaler. I get it cheap when it's expired. I've been able to scrape by on the still-employed, though they are slowly joining the ranks of the dwindlers.
The dwindlers are my subjects. I rule them with firm but generous hand. Mark, once a foreman, and now going on 5 years of unemployment, is not unusual. He is late middle-age, a decent sort, but unable to do more than wish the plant will reopen. The time when he might have moved to a more prosperous area, or gotten a new skill, has passed. Though he is hard up against it, he is luckier than most. He has a small payment from the VA for a service disability, and occasionally does a little painting. I let him run a tab; at 250 a month, giving him Blitz, I make a few dollars. The food is a loss, but I would have to throw most of it out.
Carl is his one-time boss and friend. They come in together. I don't know what keeps Carl afloat, but he nurses his beer and does not accept a sandwich on the house. The women are varied: Lottie is a faded beauty who once, in a surprisingly genteel and roundabout way, offered me the world's oldest trade. I made as if I couldn't, because it was bad for business, and that it make for an awkward situation, but the truth is that she no longer had much to trade. Her lifestyle had robbed her of what was once her greatest asset. Now she helps me some for a few dollars, under the table: bussing, cleaning up, and sometimes kitchen prep. Though is useless as a waitress because she cannot add nor subtract, on the nights she is working she does not get drunk, and is helpful cajoling the boozers when it is time to leave. When she has been drinking, I usually cajole her to leave, and without my company. But she is a decent sort, and I have known her since 7th grade; some nights I let her sleep in the office.
I am not immune to the absurdity of an alcoholic running a bar. Again, had I a better offer, I would take it. But I have lived here all but two years of my life, and cannot see how to change my lot. Besides, my subjects rely on me. I know them, and I know way they need. I know how to manage their broken lives, and at the very least I see that they eat. Heavy rests the head that wears the crown.
But their numbers are dwindling slowly. They die, they wind up in the county care facility, or if they are lucky, the VA home. They are not replaced; young people do not come to this town. Young people leave this town. Even the community college has closed two of its campuses.
The day will come when I must abdicate this throne. I am not sure where I will go. The days when I feel as if I might rejoin their ranks come more frequently now. I stared into a glass of Scotch for 15 minutes tonight. I almost tasted the eggnog after I added the rum. I caught myself, but just in time. On the day that I stumble, I will lose my crown.
Self recovered Self discovered
Join Date: Aug 2011
Location: Toronto Canada
Posts: 5,148
I am a lucky man today, RB51 because I have had the privilege of reading your prose. Soon, I will be in line at Chapters or Barnes and Noble for the same pleasure. Timshel, or Thou Mayest. Best to you.
Fellow Traveler and Seeker
Join Date: Sep 2012
Location: Toronto, Ontario
Posts: 2,408
That post channeled Raymond Carver. Strong and lovely writing, indeed.
You speak of your customers not having options. How about you? Any dreams? Any chances of abdicating now - these may be your "subjects" but your life is yours to live. You clearly have a creative side to you - slugging expired beer may seem to be the only game in town, but it seems that there is something bigger out there for you. At least that was my first gut reaction after reading your story.
But first and foremost is your own sobriety - it was asked already, but how have you maintained it?
Thanks for your post. Made my day.
You speak of your customers not having options. How about you? Any dreams? Any chances of abdicating now - these may be your "subjects" but your life is yours to live. You clearly have a creative side to you - slugging expired beer may seem to be the only game in town, but it seems that there is something bigger out there for you. At least that was my first gut reaction after reading your story.
But first and foremost is your own sobriety - it was asked already, but how have you maintained it?
Thanks for your post. Made my day.
Member
Join Date: Apr 2012
Location: northern michigan. not the U.P.
Posts: 15,281
why did i go to the the bars like the one you run? i found poeple to join in on my pity party. they did absolutely nothing to help me manage my life. the enabled me to continue the same behavior thtat got me onto that barstool.
reread what ya wrote:
"But their numbers are dwindling slowly. They die, they wind up in the county care facility, or if they are lucky, the VA home"
IMO, that isnt helping manage their lives.its helping them die a slow miserable death.
i hope you will give up the throne. it doesnt read like yer doin a very good job.
reread what ya wrote:
"But their numbers are dwindling slowly. They die, they wind up in the county care facility, or if they are lucky, the VA home"
IMO, that isnt helping manage their lives.its helping them die a slow miserable death.
i hope you will give up the throne. it doesnt read like yer doin a very good job.
Its_me_jen
Join Date: May 2004
Location: Salina, Ks
Posts: 8,547
Welcome to SR RustBelt. I'll add to those who love our writing! Amazing stuff.
After reading this .... I wonder ... who do you rely on? do you know how to manage your life?
Just some questions to ponder.
Originally Posted by RustBelt51
Besides, my subjects rely on me. I know them, and I know way they need. I know how to manage their broken lives .....
Just some questions to ponder.
Currently Active Users Viewing this Thread: 1 (0 members and 1 guests)
