What started out as a poem, ended up as a piece of prosetry/flash fiction. Some would argue that “what you do” as your identity seems empty, and that there might be another way to define ourselves.
“What do you do?”
by Odin Roark
Two strangers sit at a bar.
Dirty martini guy sips nervously, eyes darting about for women.
Covering his disdain for Old Crow guy’s choice of drink,
dirty martini guy says, “So…whadda you do?”
Old Crow guy continues jotting words on a napkin.
Dirty martini clears his throat,
the answer being demanded,
albeit with smiles,
awkward cordiality,
patronization.
Quiet Old Crow
Responds, “carpe diem.”
Flummoxed, dirty martini guy nods.
“Yeah. Heard that''s been goin’ ''round. Hasn’t bit me yet, though.”
He playfully jabs his elbow into Old Crow guy.
Old Crow guy gives his drink a swirl. “Yeah. Lucky for you.”
Dirty martini guy adjusts his Satya Paul necktie. “Damn straight.”
Like most liquor aficionados,
bartender shakes his head.
“You guys good?”
Dirty martini guy, “Freshen mine, okay?”
“Is that more olive juice or booze?”
“Brine, for now”
Old Crow lifts his glass to dirty martini guy
“To thinkers with a vocabulary.”
He turns to the bartender with his glass
“To humans, who know humans when they see them.”
They all tip their glass.
Dirty martini is unhappy
“This brine tastes old.”
“Yeah,” says bartender, “Yesterday gets that way, you know?”
Dirty martini toasts the bartender. “Good one. Ha…I knew that.”
Turning back to Old Crow, he says, “Well, now we’ve gotten that out of the way,
what''s it like having this ‘carpe diem’ thing…exactly?”
“You dream as if you''ll live forever. Live as if you''ll die today,” posits Old Crow, jotting another word down.
“Yeah…" Dirty martini smiles disdainfully, scans the room again, takes another sip, sighs. "That''ll keep you awake nights, eh?
Old Crow folds his napkin and slides it in his shirt pocket; downs the rest of his drink; slips a ten under the glass; slides off the stool and heads for the door.
Dirty martini squares off with the mirror behind the bar. "Definitely keep you awake."
“Sounds like you’re ready for another,” says the bartender.
“Make it a double. I might die today.”
The fresh drink is placed in front of him. “Hey, bartender…any idea why he wouldn’t tell me what he did for a living?”
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Your story is why I never spent much time in bars in idle conversation with other guys with other agendas on their minds. However, it's spot on for the kind of one-upmanship that tends to happen whenever people start drinking and their real agenda appears.
Cheers!
Ron
budd