Broken

Sometimes I just want to fix all the broken people that I see around me. I don’t know why, but I thought that thought last night as I was once again hanging around with a cast of characters whose lives I rarely envy. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a crazy Holden Caulfield thing, being the “catcher in the rye”–only I guess it’s different because instead of saving the innocents from adulthood, I’m looking to repair adult lives that have derailed. Maybe it’s more of a “My Name is Earl” thing–I’m seeking forgiveness for my own fuck-ups in life by wanting to save others from their fuck-ups. Again, I don’t know.

But, having said that, I know it’s not going to happen. I’m learning in more ways than one that people are deeply programmed by their past experiences to make all the wrong choices over and over again no matter what anyone says to them. It’s a seemingly impossible pattern to break. And even if you think your life is wonderful for the time being, you’re probably headed for a fall. We all fall down.

But enough of that. I have a whole weekend to write about and it all starts off with the theme I just introduced.

It all started with a distant thump and T. saying: “I think Hogie just fell off his barstool.” We looked over and saw that no, in fact Hogie was standing up though looking down at the floor a bit puzzled. Someone else had indeed fallen to the floor of the bar. D. and a couple of other people ran over to help out. R. and I stayed where we were–there were a half dozen people over there already, some of them skilled in case it was a real emergency, and we agreed that we were not the people for that job. The bartender quickly asserted–for anyone listening–that she had only served the guy three drinks and D. and a couple of other people helped him back into his seat. A cab was called and someone kept an eye on the guy until it arrived. Which of course was when the jokes started:

“Hey, D. was giving him mouth-to-mouth even though he didn’t need it.”

“Buy the guy a drink. he’s having a rough night.”

And, of course, “Hey the passed out guy wants to buy the bar a round. Check his pockets for cash.”

And as for the rest of a truly crazy Sunday night, let me fall back on an overused format:

Three games of pool with two drunken women: $3

The bar tab for a night of carrousing: $40

Finding out about the jealous and violent ex-boyfriend: priceless

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