Is Conversation Therapy?

            I got a bartending job in town strictly for shits and giggles.  And pure boredom, but that’s neither here nor there.  I guess I also got it to meet people because I don’t have any friends here and I think I need some.  It’s hard being somewhere with no friends and being surrounded by college kids that are shitty tippers because they’re either A. broke.  B. Living off mommy and daddy.  Or C. Cheap fucks.  I am going with C.

            Last night was one of those shitty nights at the bar where there were all of 10 people there.  I blame it precisely on the “Irish Musicians” that played last night.  Now when I say Irish Musicians, I don’t mean a rocking Irish band with fiddles and singers.  Ya know, something like Shilelagh Law, I mean they sit in a circle jerk and close their eyes and play flutes and clarinets.  Not to mention they look absolutely miserable while doing so.  Maybe if they brought in some earplugs they wouldn’t look so miserable, but whatever. 

            This guy sits down at the bar and starts a chat with me.  We get into the whole “where ya from thing?’ because I clearly don’t sound like a hick.  SO I tell him New York.  Bla bla bla.  Then he asks me why I am here and not in New York because New York is awesome and “I dated a girl from there.  Port Jervis actually.  And I loved it!  I loved everything about it!  I don’t understand why you moved here from there!”

            “Oh, you know, change of scenery.”

            He looks at me funny and says, “I’m not buying it.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I think there is something more than your telling me.”

            “Maybe there is.”

            “Well?  What is it?”

            “You really want to know?  I don’t think it’s exactly something patrons want to know.”

            “Well, I am interested.”

            Of course he is interested.  Who wouldn’t be interested in a strangers long and sorted story about WHY they moved to North Carolina from New York.  Fuck it!  Lets see what his reaction is to my shit situation.

            “If you must know, you must have another drink.  I moved to North Carolina because my boyfriend dumped me after almost 6 years of being together.  In a note.  At my friends funeral.  I didn’t see a point in being there any more.  Not to mention there are really no jobs up there either.”

            He looks at me over the rim of his glass and stares in shock.  And do you want to know his response to that bit of information?  Here it is…

            “Why did your friend have a funeral?”

            Twilight zone shit!  Hmm.. I don’t know why he wanted to have a funeral.  Maybe to see just how many people would show up?  How many people wanted to party knowing that his funeral would really rake them in!  I don’t know!  This just goes to show you how fucking dumb some people can be! 

            I just looked at him like he was a moron and said, “he died.”

            Strangely enough, he was surprised!  Has he never attended a funeral before?!  Un-fucking-real. 

            “Well, your boyfriend was a dick head.”

            “Thanks for the information.”

            “Well, how did you take it?”

            Is he serious?  I don’t like talking about this shit with my best friends, let alone some random man sitting across the bar from me at my place of business.  But then I think about it and why not tell him?  Whats he care?  Who’s he gonna tell?

            “I didn’t take it very well.  Fetal position for about a week.  Not to mention I lost a few pounds.  Probably one of the best diets I have ever been on in my life.”

            “Well, that’s good I guess!”

            I sometimes just don’t understand why, now being here, I think about him a lot more than I did when he was an hour train ride away from me.  Wondering if he was going to walk into the Watering Hole to get some food.  Maybe I would have seen him somewhere I would have least expected it.  But here, there is kind of that unknowing feeling that makes it hard.  It’s kind of like punching yourself repeatedly.  Why do you do it?  Why do you torture yourself over and over?  I heard the answer once, and it was this; because it hurts to stop. 

            It really makes me wonder if my being here is a form of torture because there is ZERO chance of running into him anywhere down here.  What if somewhere deep down I want to run into them and see him and see how he is doing.  Maybe I want to know everything about him.  Pathetic?  Maybe.  Absolutely actually. 

            And what makes it even more pathetic is this; having some complete stranger, who doesn’t know anything about me or how I felt that day, ask me personal questions and getting a rise out of me.  I came home last night and was so depressed.  Funny thing was “Stolen” came on the radio on the way home.  That was one of our songs.  Unfortunately for me, I can’t listen to it.  Or “Harvest Moon” by Neil Young.  Even “Christmas in New York” by Shilelagh Law is hard for me to swallow. 

            Am I going to keep punching myself?  And if I stop, how bad will it hurt?