The happy place

Good times come to an end. Out with the old and in with the new. After tomorrow the last famous bar on the ‘gnome getaway’ will be history and parking places will take it’s place. The remains of the previously demolished drinking tree still lurks behind ‘ye olde lepricon’, the old Irish pub. But even the hardest of drinkers  must bow down to progress and all of it will soon be transformed into a parking place. New times, but will they be as good as the old, I have my doubts....

It must be about fifty years ago or so when I first visited ‘ye olde lepricon’. It was one of those heavy drinking places you tend to avoid when you’re not quite that far gone yourself yet. But since I had debts all over the getaway and my presence wasn’t appreciated anymore in the lion’s share of the getaway I seemed ready to knock on the lions head of ‘ye olde lepricon’; misery loves company. ‘What you want’, someone bellowed. ‘I just want a drink’ I told him. ‘You can get a drink anywhere on the getaway...’’Yeah, I know, but I have some trouble and I just really need one you see’, ‘Got any money on you?’. ‘I have two silverenes left’ I told him. ‘Well, that will get you a drink in here if you’re not too afraid of going blind’ he informed as he ushered me in.

The bar’s air consisted of thick pipe smoke; it was crowded with gnomes; only one love binding them to this place: liquor. They came in all kinds of ages, shapes, gender, mental states...
‘Fresh meat?’, an old gnome of at least 150 years old on the stool next to me hissed. ‘Just passing by’, I replied,’... don’t have any interest in becoming a regular visitor...’. The old one started to laugh in a crackled voice: ‘no one intends to become a regular, boy, but they all do....and so will you’, he downed a whole finger hat of what looked like some kind of ale in one gulp and shouted: ‘Welcome to the happy place!’. The old one’s face crashed onto the bar with a content expression playing around his lips; his long beard cushioning the blow.

I ordered a drink’s worth for one silverene and got a whole finger hat of a non distinct liquid, the rubbing alcohol smell ensuring me it would get me where I wanted to go. Both stomachs  yelled out in pain when it hit them, but it soon resided and I got used to the drink. So used, in fact, it cost me one of my livers only 10 years later. ‘So, what’s your story’ another old timer questioned’, ‘girlfriend split, job gone, debts, or like most gnomes in here, all of the above...?’. ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. ’Oh, but talk you will, after enough cups everybody talks around here, story after story, putting misery upon misery...; you’re problems aren’t special over here, they just blend in with our special mix of grief and relief, hey...’he laughed and took a deep toke from his pipe. ‘Well, it’s actually none of the above, I answered him, it’s...’ I didn’t know how to put it.

‘A fortune seeker...the big people, isn’t it’: the old timer explained what I couldn’t put into words. ‘Yeah, big people....big people’ I repeated, looking into space,  taking another sip of my dubious drink while one of the other gnomes in the establishment used his  hat as a vomit recipient; welcome to the happy place indeed....
‘You’re not alone, all fortune seekers eventually wind up in here, boy. The look in their eyes reveals how long they stayed in the big people world. Can you see the years in my eyes boy...’ he asked commandingly. His eyes showed decades of heavy drinking sedating the craziness that peered right out of his soul.
‘Too long, always too long....’ I replied, downing the rest of my drink in one gulp.  ‘Hahaha, I like you boy. I’m Bertrand, but all my friends call me Burt, and my good friends call me crazy Burt...hahahaha....’. ‘Hi Burt’ I replied non enthusiastically. I never thought I was going to meet another gnome crazier or more mixed up than me, but his eyes told me he was in a league of his own; some other inhabitants of the bar would later prove heavy competition too, but Burt was the undisputed champion.
‘Ha,ha,ha, don’t be afraid, I might be crazy, but far too old to old to pose a  threat to you boy, the big ones made sure of that’: he laughed, and pointed downwards revealing nothing;  because there was nothing, his legs were gone....

’Did they do that to you...?’ I stammered, ‘I‘ve had my share, but at least I got out fully legged...’. ‘Well the way they saw it, I did it to me...hahahaha....but we’re all friends here in ‘ye old lepricon’, and it’s the only bar in town that’s got stuff  that’s hard enough to forget about big people....for a while...hahahaha...’. His laugh grew into in deep slimy coughs which seemed to go on for ages before he continued: ‘My employer threw a pool party while I was working in his garden; one of his drunk guests knocked me over; their explanation: ‘what’s a garden gnome doing there anyway’. Threw me away and left me with no legs or silverines to come back here boy...hahahaha...., those big shits...bastards...’.  He took a large gulp to increase sedation and try to stop his craziness from swinging into full gear.

I spent my second silverine on a new finger hat. Burt was right. This was the stuff that could let you forget all about the humiliations, slave labour, mistreatments....
How did I get into this mess?
‘Ye old lepricon’ was the last station for every gnome fortune seeker surviving a long journey which started with the promises of the big people. All those roads led to this bar...or similar ones. We thought the train departed for golderine land, when it was only a return ticket, with a heavy price.

         That last station soon become a safe haven to forget and be among those who went through the same experience; Burt introduced me to all of them; shared misery mixed with heavy doses of liquor and pipe herbs gluing us together into a thick vengeful mass, fueling our vengeance with stories of big people and mistreatments; how I slaved day and night for them in their garden, but never saw a silverine, I wasn’t even allowed inside when it rained, they never said a word, no food, I had to steal my booze from inside the house at night, until one day, when their dog peed on me for the umpteenth time I decided I’ve had enough and went back to ‘Gnomeville’.

‘The thing is...’, ol’ Bob, another garden gnome, once said:’ they have plenty of money, but they don’t want to share it with you, no matter how hard you work. When one of the big ones tells you stories about how good life over there is you expect some of the wealth to rub of on you, it’s plain gnome decency; but not big people decency, as soon as they put you on a shelf and ask you to be still and quiet you know something’s wrong; but you don’t react and stay slaving for them, hoping one day they’ll share their wealth, but they never do. No simple gnome decency...traitors...parasites....’.’Sick, sick, sick ...all of them...sick...’, Paddy emphasized his agreement with ol’ Bob through his never ending mantra.
Paddy only drank, smoked, looked blankly into space and repeated these words over and over again. He had been seeking fortune as a gnome adult toy, we had never heard of such a thing, but the totally bewildered look on Paddy’s face instinctively told us it must have been worse then working as a garden gnome, though that seemed almost inconceivable to us.

‘It has all to do with history and their teachings’, little Carl sometimes uttered in drunken stupor. ‘It’s imprinted in their mythologies. Like that girl who had troubles at home, can’t remember her name, but anyway, seven of us helped her out, when she got sick we looked after her, and then one day another big one shows up and takes her home. Did we see a silverine? Not one! They learn it’s ok to take advantage of a gnome and give nothing in return, and then they tell that filth to their little big people and they learn too that gnomes are there to be taken advantage of! We need revolution! Revolution!’. Nobody ever paid much attention to little Carl. He was a gnome like the rest of us, had endured many hardships, so we let him yell from time to time; and sometimes we even pretended to be taken in by his words; but all of us knew our lives were already over and our enemy was way to powerful. So we always just ordered another finger hat till ‘ye old lepricon’ became the happy place again.

Good times, ‘ye olde lepricon’ has always been the end station for fortune seekers, the last stop that send us on an express flight to were all gnomes go. To dim out all feelings left in that interlude. It has sent us on our way all right. I’m only 120 and the doctor says it will be over any day now; but the doctor’s wrong, it was already over when I went to the big people..... crazy Burt, ol’ Bob, sick Paddy, little Carl, all long gone.... But the bar was never short on costumers. Gnomes keep on seeking their fortune and keep up putting misery upon misery.  Now more then ever, the young want bigger sleds to fill that parking lot, and go out drinking in those fancy new drinking trees on the green side of town. But do you know who put that green side and those drinking trees overt here.
Guess who....?


Word count: 1676