9 Chapter 8 - The Bartender and The Man

"You got space?"

As the clock hit 8PM I once again went to the 'Roses'. There were few customers already drinking away, and the bar table was full bar one seat.

"It's a damn shame that I have to go to that dumb ass company every single day."

A man sitting on the bar table complained. His voice was so raised that I could hear him by the exit. I slowly made my way to the only empty sit on the bar table. For some reason today, I wanted to hear some conversations. I did my daily social engineering at work and phone calls to balance the mood on my puppets, so I didn't really want to speak for the rest of the day.

"Your boss sounds super harsh sir, I agree, it's a bit of a shame."

"You think so too right? Just because I'm the oldest there and he likes the other cute little pups in our project team he's just incredibly harsh on me!"

Work huh. I must say those sorts of complaints are the most pointless. There are many people out there who couldn't work even if they wanted to, and in my perspective not fitting into a workplace was due to a personal weakness, not due to the circumstances around one. You simply need to be the right person who's in the right place at the right time. I was good at that. This middle aged man clearly wasn't, and that's all there is to it.

"It must be frustrating." The bartender opened his mouth after a pause. I wondered what he was going to say. Was he going to say the similar thing to what I was thinking? I wondered how this damn prick who had the nerve to push me away was going to give his advice.

"Workplaces are incredibly competitive, so often people can't and won't look around themselves. So naturally you get people who get left behind and become scapegoats."

"I understand that, I just can't for a life of me figure out why that has to be me." The man took a shot from his glass. He then picked up his whiskey bottle and poured some more - to a halfway point- before stirring the glass to get the ice to move around in the brownish liquid.

"I hate it."

"Look at it the other way around." The boy behind the bar spoke with a soft smile.

"Who else to take on that job but you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how old that prick is that manages your team nor how competent he actually is in reality, but although I don't know exactly about him, I definitely know a little bit about you. Everytime you come here, you talk about your family, about how beautiful your daughter is or how nice your wife is. I can see the responsibility you hold onto your shoulders, and I can see that you come here to drink to take a break from that just for a bit." The boy fixed his round glasses, then carried on.

"So, I can't give you an ideal scenario where you have a big victory like the people in movies that beat up their superiors and quit, or you win a big lottery. I can only suggest you take the small victories."

The middle-aged man listened, to the young boy probably a decade younger than him, very carefully.

"Your victories are in your family, in yourself, and the fact that you are hard working and responsible enough to keep working despite your hardships. So if you cannot avoid the whole situation and conflict at all, please consider that you're taking the extra burden, taking the small failures for the sake of your beautiful small victories."

The man tilted his glass towards him, looking carefully at the whiskey inside, and smiled.

"That's just the reality of the situation huh." The man spoke quitely.

"Indeed, and it's a situation that you have a grasp on. You're doing just fine." The boy responded.

"Just come occasionally, complain about your dumb superiors when you get too stressed, and go home to the most valuable assets you have in your life as of now. That, in my opinion, is the best way to live your best life in the worst of circumstances."

I was a little bit shook.

I wondered how much of that he actually meant. I wonder how much of that was his social engineering, and I wondered how much of that was sincere. But one thing was for sure.

He was an interesting kid. He could be more than a B grade if I managed to get my strings attached to him.

"Can I make an order?" I raised my hand slowly, tilting my head, forming the softest smile I can imitate. The boy looked my way, and smiled back.

"Of course,miss. What would you like?" His voice had the generic business tone, very clear and very accented in its words.

"Just a simple gin and tonic." I responded.

"...and a little bit of your silver tongued advice on life."

I said as I held a 10 pound note folded between my forefinger and my middle finger, both pointing towards the boy. His eyes were fixed on the note, and he subsequently smiled.

I'll prove my worth.

He will be mine.