i’ve gotten truly sloppy about not recording these. there was a time when i diligently journaled and/or recorded them all. i know why i have stopped. which is why i should resume doing it. it hardly seems fair to let one bad apple spoil the barrel, for all i suppose it is common.
i walk into a tavern and along the wall were about thirty people, mostly men, all of whom have a placard in front of them that holds a single adjective. scattered throughout the place are more people, all of which carriy a small necklace that also holds a single adjective each. the bartender, myself, and one fellow sitting in the back corner are the only ones in the place without an adjective.
i walk up to the bar and ask what the deal is with the words. he tells me their adjectives. i manage not to roll my eyes and ask again, what is their meaning? he tells me that every weekend, the patrons gather and play this game.
they each arrive with a blank placard and the night is spent writing the one adjective they think best describes themselves on it…. from there, everyone else in the place must choose “their” adjective from another person and once you’ve had your adjective taken, you cannot stop playing until you find one that no one takes from you for over ten minutes. if and when you succeed, you sit along the wall. once everyone is sitting down, the adjectives are recorded to the person they ‘belong’ to and are counted. the top ten adjectives (with the most placards) are removed. the top three of what is left are the winners, with each receiving a share of the registration fees to play.
i mention that i think such a game might continue for quite a while. the bartender laughs and tells me that sometimes it did, but you’d be surprised how willing people were to take your word when they felt it applied to them. he points to a woman who was walking out with her adjective still on, “that’s what usually happens. some of them don’t take well to having their word taken.”
i chuckle. i bet they didn’t. especially if they wind up with one they don’t like or that they don’t think applies to them. my gaze returns to the fellow in the corner without a placard, “what about him?” the bartender looks over and laughs, “oh. he’s not playing.” i sigh, “yes, i can see that. does he never play?” the bartender shakes his head, “no. never does. the one time i ask him about it, he just said he comes here to see how long it takes people to figure out they’re the same.”
i thought about that a moment, “so he’s a regular?” the bartender laughs, a short and rather sudden bark, “yeah. definitely.” i nod, take my drink and cross the room to where he is sitting, noticing that from the moment i left the bar, heading in his direction, he has been watching me.
i arrive curiously nervous, not like me at all. he grins and lifts an empty placard from the table, almost mockingly asks me, “are you looking for this?”
“no,” i reply, “i could have gotten that from the bartender.” he nods and something in his eye changes, he doesn’t look quite as sardonic and the effect is almost like sadness, “so there’s nothing you’d write on this thing? or is it that you aren’t interested in the game?”
i settle into a chair next to him, “it’s all a game. but there is no winning.” he looks over at me sharply, blue eyes narrowing just a bit, “indeed? and why is that?” i smile, recognizing him at last, “because it’s all the same.”
he grins and extends his hand, “well met. i’m suspicious. and you?” i chuckle, “trusting, of course, what else would i be?” he nods, “of course. what do you say we get out of here?” i nod and we both wave to the bartender as we leave… as we pass the last table before the door, two of the people sitting there are whispering together. the first one says to the second, “they act like they don’t do this same damn thing every week.” the second nods, looking somewhat knowingly at the door, “as if not putting it on a card somehow means no one notices.”
we look at one another and laugh, stepping out into the night and freedom, “i keep thinking i’ll become bored with this…” i trail off letting the chuckle behind my words find its own end, “i know. but the highlight of my night is watching you walk across the room to me, and the way whomever is sitting by the door just can’t help but snark.”
our giggling wakes me up.