These Times
These times. This is no time for a man who would be a man, he says, taking a shot of tequila off the bar. Where is the honor? Where is the chance at glory? Drink up. What else is there? A woman passes and gives them both a challenging glance. Fffff. A woman. What do you want? You come here for the same thing we all do. You want someone to take you away from yourself. I drink to quiet myself. I drink because if I didn’t I’d become something and there’s nothing worse than a man who becomes something just because he’s afraid of being nothing. I imagine myself dying on some great battlefield somewhere. Just ask Frankie–she’s always saying I’m a warrior, that this isn’t the type of life a guy like me should lead. Now I’m not saying I want to kill something or someone. I would if I had to. But I’m saying there’s a time for men like us and that time is not now. What should we be? Should we be actors? Should we be men that put on makeup and stand in front of cameras? Is that the only way to have true glory in this world? Should we be politicians? Should we be professional athletes and play a game for glory? Should we fight in an unjust war that the world hates and come back to derision just to be decorated? Tell me! He opens his arms and rests his back against the bar. What is there in this world that men can do to feel noble? And moral and noble are two different things. Taking the easy way isn’t noble. Working at a craft and mastering it is a good and useful thing but there are no moments of heroism in shipbuilding or masonry. Is it becoming a firefighter? Is that as far as we get in modern humanity? And what does that say about us–firefighters–I mean that’s a good way to live, full of action, saving people’s lives, but if you look at how we view them, how much they’re paid versus how much they risk–name for me one firefighter you know in this world. You can’t do it! Doctors are the same. We give all our money to people that portray them, to entertainers, to mimics, bit players and stooges. Where is the honor in that line of work? Making people happy or sad for what, two hours? He turned back to the bar and ordered another pair of tequila shots, his sixth of the night. The bartender brought them with limes across the rims. He handed him a ten dollar bill and turned back to the crowd. Hell, a bartender should get paid as much as an actor. These hipsters. This irony. It means nothing and that’s the point. They’re intentionally nothing. It’s like they’ve recognized what we’ve been talking about and because they don’t want to deal with it they mock it. So that’s what our generation is then, an entire generation made up of insincere cowards. Children. Men and women who don’t want to grow up. Who don’t want to build something new or good out of our own community, our own youth. And now we’re almost too old to matter anyway. The ground’s shifted under our feet. I’m going to get more drunk and wake up tomorrow hungover and listless. The alcohol will make it hard enough to care. I could’ve been something, man, if it wasn’t for these times.
