So I went to Z-Tejas earlier, just to grab some grub and talk with a few people. I didn’t realize how packed it was going to become in the next few hours. As more people started crowding around the bar, I became quieter. I was listening to them… and realizing how shallow-thinking a lot of people can be. The only person I could kind of relate to was the black guy sitting at the end of the bar, who was minding his own business and seemingly doing the same thing. What made me put out my card to leave, though, were the people.
They talked about things that centered so much around their lives– the new bracelet they had. Maybe it was about what the nailgirl was talking about in Filipino, and how they thought it was about them. Or maybe the guy that ordered the appetizer and modification to his drink:
“Two things; First, can I order some of the <insert appetizer name here>? And second, I don’t think you poured any Chambord in this.” Fortunately the bartender just had to reach over and put a little on top of it to make the guy happy. But it just spun me. My ever-so-famous filter kicked in, and prevented nice messages being delivered to said man.
“Hey dumbfuck, it’s what gives that white slushy stuff the red tint. Of course he poured it in there. You don’t have to go so far and be an ass to ask for a bit more alcohol in the drink. The bartender’s a pretty kosher guy.”
“I don’t think your dad poured enough tact into the cumload that made you.”
After the filter shuts those off and I get the credit card back to write out the tip, I begin to think to myself. “Come on now Reiter. You’re just being a bit tense. You had a late night last night waiting for someone that didn’t show up, you’re not sure if your truck is gonna start. Just keep it together and get out the building and you’ll feel better.” But I thought more, like my parents had taught me to do (thank you mom and dad, sincerely. You’ve given me a lot of good personality traits).
My friends that I keep are polite. They wouldn’t express a look of shock on their face if I said, “gay” or “Marilyn Manson.” Likely, it’d either end up in a nice, open minded and friction-free discussion about whatever topic it was. The friends I keep would be nice enough to be non-confrontational and say, “Hey… could you slip me a bit more in this? I’m not tasting the Chambord.” Maybe, they’d even slide a dollar just as fair trade, even if they think the bartender didn’t do so. The friends I keep are more world-conscious, and can hold a conversation about the topics in Egypt without a blank face.
My family is the same, thank all that is Holy, as my friends. I don’t have to worry about cringing every time I go to a family function. I can talk about things relevant to topics outside the latest fashion in Chandler Mall, or how the hubby was so nice as to let her go out tonight (heard that too). At the risk of sounding like a clinical psychopath, these people– like the ones in the restaurant, sometimes make me want to throw up. All over their nice shirts and jeans that they bought on sale at $200, and who have no concept of the world outside of the box they’ve built themselves.
And you know what’s cool about my friends and family? They’d likely laugh at the person that got puked on, because they were thinking the same thing.