FTL

“The drunker the better.” She says to me, leaning her weight on her heels in her version of sexy.

“What?”

“The drunker the better.” This time she brushes her hair with her hand and flails even more to make sure I get the point.

The misunderstanding is my fault. She thinks 'what' meant that I didn't hear her. In reality 'what' is shorthand for 'What do you think is desirable about a woman I've watched teach her liver a fucking lesson all night?'

“The dart boards close at 3:30 a.m.” I gently force the sharp objects out of the drunk's hand, because words never quite register this far in to the morning. She clomps over to her gal pals, who may be drunker and better, it's hard to tell. There is nothing appealing about the kind of woman that closes a bar.

I can hear the front-door bouncer singing, already. His musical stylings get louder by the end of the night, but this is a little early to hear him from my post at the back door.

         Get the fuck out.
         Go the fuck home.

His voice is much smoother than you'd expect. He's the bar's giant version of Isaac Hayes, gently conveying to the masses that Saturday night is over and its time to move on with their damn lives.

Unfortunately, I'm more of a percussionist than a leading man. I hunt through my phone for our Isaac's last text, because remembering to type someone's name to my contact list seems like an inefficient use of my staring at boozers time.

'U can let him i hate those' I'm not sure what I was asking about. Isaac hates a lot of things that are allowed in a bar.

I click reply, flick the keyboard and tap out a little tune for him.

'Does anyone look like a problem?' This is a good time to ask. Last call in New York is at 4 a.m: a magical time when a staff that makes good money enabling alcoholism says its time to stop drinking and go to bed. It's also the time where someone is most likely to start trouble. Anyone who wants to go home was there two hours ago.

A note from Isaac buzzes back to me before I have a chance to look up.

'1 by u'

I know which '1' he's talking about. The woman has been face down at the bar for a while now, bleach blond drapes hung clumsily on her head. That's normally a red flag.

'She's just some old lady. Won't be an issue.'

I'm not sure if she's all that old. All I could see was thin, veiny legs that didn't match her leather skirt and heels. She's trying to be young. And that's the oldest thing I've seen here. It's sad, but it's not a fight.

The whole of my job for the night is avoiding a fight, but its the sad that really scares me. There's nothing wrong with ducking out on life for a few hours. But the sad ones: the ones who hold on to the night for every second it's worth until all that's left is to dress like it's the 90's and pass out. Like they can't see anything good in the next morning.

I can't imagine something worse than being afraid of the future. Time is supposed to click forward.

I can hear Isaac click the front door locked. The sound is quickly swallowed by the big gold bell behind the bar: the opening act for the bartender's song.

         Last call

Its time to go to work. The liquor's dried up and the only open door is the exit: my door. I do one last survey of the shit that's about to roll my way.

The drunker the better gang scowl at the bartender's solo, which is about as popular as Springsteen's new material. They'll be obnoxious, but not a problem. Dart girl clenches her beer as the idea of last call hits home. She'll have to be told to put the drink down before she leaves. Then she'll have to tell me that I'm an asshole and a faggot. But she'll put the drink down.

No problem.

There's a group dressed just a little bit grunge squeezing in one last game of eight ball that may be an issue. They haven't crossed any lines, tonight. One of them got a little surly during the midnight rush. He was all peach-fuzz, flannel and indignation, like if Neil Young were somehow more of an asshole. I didn't see what got him started, but when Isaac told him to calm down he listened pretty quick.

But I'm about half the big man's size and well within the range of Neil's Wild Turkey-fueled confidence. Based on the teeth-grinding speed that he's missing the cue ball, I'd wager there's a touch of coke-fueled energy in that mix.

Not that a man who can barely walk a straight line out of here is much of a threat. But the harder they come the harder they sue. I'll have to get him through the door before he figures out how to be a problem.

Then there's the hot one: an entirely different kind of problem. She's leaning over the bar, in all her halter-topped glory, trying to get an extra drink from the bartender. Science has proven that being pretty doubles the sense of entitlement that comes from a night of drinking: I believe that's from Richard Feynman. She'll be trying to get something from someone for every second she's here.

She was dancing on the bar with all the class of a young Courtney Love, earlier. She stopped on her own before it got out of hand. A normal night is filled with potential issues and almost no actual ones.

That leaves the '1' by me. She's still face down on the bar. I'm hoping she's someone else's problem. The desperation dripping off her is something I don't want to risk touching. Maybe Isaac will wake her up once I get everyone else out. Or maybe he'll find out she's dead. The bartender isn't great at cutting people off.

Neil belts out a face-melter and throws his stick on the table. He and the rest of his gang, presumably Crosby, Stills and Nash, head my way. I take a step to the side to give them a clear path to the exit. I'll let them open the door. I don't want my hands engaged on anything when they pass by.

Their hands are empty. I get a good look before they put on their jackets. There could always be something in a hoodie pocket, but it's unlikely.

“Goodnight.” They return the sentiment with a baseline of grunts and nods as they head straight out the door. Neil doesn't even look back. Once again, no actual issue.

Dart girl and her friends are nursing the living hell out of those drinks, calling Isaac in for an encore.

         Get the fuck out.
         Go the fuck home.

They don't take the hint. So, as the bartender starts sweeping up whatever the hell went down on the floor, we wait.

Just like every other night, the gal gang eventually have to go. Them, I open the door for with one hand. The other is already poised to grab Dart Girl by the arm.

She turns around like she's ready to fuck me or fight me and we go through an old routine.

“Miss, you have to leave your drink here.”

The fuck part of the look gives way to the fight part as she lurches her arm away.

“Let go of me, asshole. Now the fucking faggot touches me.”

There we go. Right on schedule. And, just like in the program, she puts her drink down and clomps off. No problem.

“Goodnight.”

Before I can get the door shut a head jams its way in. Neil is back, never one to disappoint his fans. I have to physically block him from walking in, which he's drunk enough to feel he's entitled to do.

“I'm sorry, sir. This door is for exit, only.” He tries to casually step in farther, but I don't move. As long as most of his body is outside, we can handle this the easy way.

“Man, you gotta let me in. My girlfriend's in there.” Neil starts in bargaining mode. This is good as I can say no to an offer.

“We'll send her out for you, sir. But you'll have to wait outside.”

Then comes the look. The gentle pan up and down as Neil's brain starts to catch up to the fact that I'm not that much bigger than him.

Please, Neil. Go for it. For once in your life do something interesting and go for it. It's trouble I've been wanting to avoid all night. But I'd have so much more respect for him if he just did something other than the old routine.

A veteran like Isaac doesn't let these things get to him. I can hear him telling me that if the guy is outside the bar just smile and handle it the easy way.

“Do you work here?” Neil asks, seemingly hunting for one last, profoundly stupid way to get what he wants without earning it.

“No sir. I'm a bar etiquette vigilante.” I slam the door shut. Neil backs up when he sees it coming toward him. That's the easy way.

“Alright. Tell her to come out.” I can hear Neil from outside accepting my counter-offer. That's nice of him.

Isaac and I start putting up chairs, hoping the last two stragglers will figure out that it's time to go the fuck home.

“Any trouble?” Apart from being smooth and melodious, Isaac's voice is nice to hear because it lacks the spelling errors of his texts.

“Nothing I can't handle.” I put up another chair with a little bit of exasperation as Courtney keeps flirting with the damn bartender. There's a reason why there is nothing appealing about a woman who can close out a bar. “You know, sometimes I wish one of these Gomers would surprise me.”

“Surprises are bad.” Isaac never wastes a note. His face is always stoic and his wisdom always on the pragmatic side. I spoil it by continuing to talk.

“Do you realize that right now there are serious laboratory experiments being done with FTL?” When I say things like FTL, I know I'll have to explain what it means. I'm not deliberately being snobbish. I just always hold out hope that there will be a kindred spirit within ear shot.

“What?”

“Faster than light travel.” I understand Isaac is saving his breath and 'what' is shorthand for 'what makes you think I want to hear about this shit at four in the fucking morning?' But I'm on a roll. “They are on the road to breaking through the one limit that keeps the human species bound to this blue rock. Man is about to take a step into the infinite, and most of these schlubs are just going to work on Monday so they have something to spend here next weekend.”

“Again with Man.” Isaac cracks the closest thin he has to a smile. “If you like Man so much why don't you marry him.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Faggot.”

He never wastes a note.

Shit.

I have to go get Neil's girlfriend or Buffalo Springfield will be hanging around all night. I go to save the bartender from the halter-top. There are two women left, but Neil definitely came with Courtney. It makes sense if you know grunge.

“Miss.”

She turns around with a cartoon ' who, me?' look on her face. Who the fuck else is left? Dauntless, I continue.

“Your boyfriend is waiting for you, outside.”

“Well, tell that asshole I don't want to go with him.” She has the exact timing and lyrical genius as the last drunk girl to yell the word asshole at me. And the one before that and the one before that. But, before we can move on to the next step in getting her ass outside, Isaac chimes in.

“You don't have to. They just left.”

“What?” I can only assume 'what' is shorthand for 'what right do you have to leave without a gem like me.' She storms towards the door and opens it to shout “faggot” into the night. It's like they go to school for this.

Sadly, the door closes with Courtney still inside. Her voice becomes a lot sweeter for what we all know is coming.

“How am I supposed to get home, now?”

I avoid eye-contact. She'll be trying to get something every second she's here. But not from me. I put up some more chairs, trying to avoid the old lady. Though I'm pretty sure I can't make both these women someone else's problem.

Isaac starts back at the chairs, too. As I said, he was a veteran. He doesn't want to get stuck with either of them.

The juke box turns on with our staff mix of songs to play people out of the God damn bar. The first is from the Bat Out of Hell album. It's not exactly popular with the others, but I appreciate the significance and even sing along.

         We could be standing at the top of the world
         Instead of sinking further down in the mud
         You and me 'round about midnight

Then, the world shakes. Springing up from the dead, the old lady shoots some notes into the stratosphere. 

         You and me 'round about midnight

She has the kind of voice that comes from raw talent and hard living. It's one part Bonny Tyler, one part Grace Slick and, somehow, all metal. The chairs stop moving. The bartender stops sweeping. For a moment, the hot one even stops trying to get something.  And that's when the old lady takes off.

         Someone's got to draw first blood.

She holds 'blood' long enough to outlast the rest of the verse. Isaac and the bartender clap and I learn what being stunned is like.

Fuck. Who is this girl? Who did she play with? She could have been a session musician for Neverland Express. She seems about the right age, now. That kind of talent can't just be hiding in nobody.

Before I could say a thing, she was gone. Faster than light. I didn't even get to say goodnight as the sun came up. Isaac and the bartender get back to the last of the clean up. My sorry ass hits the floor and all I can think of is a song.

         Well, I dreamed I saw the silver
         Space ships flying
         In the yellow haze of the sun,
         There were children crying
         And colors flying
         All around the chosen ones.
         All in a dream, all in a dream
         The loading had begun.
         They were flying Mother Nature's
         Silver seed to a new home in the sun.

I get up before anyone starts to think it's a problem. Courtney is still inside, waiting for help.

“I'll give you a ride home.” She gives me a cartoon 'who, me?' look. Who the fuck else is here? “It's on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“Where we're headed.”