Friday leaving Work (Part 8)

"I'll see you again..."
  As soon as he said those words, he knew he was either lying or hoping and he couldn't figure out which he was wishing for more. Leaving was never easy and for a man who craved routine inside of what appeared to be a chaotic existence, walking away from the normalcy of regular life into the unknown was strange, dangerous and thrilling all at the same time. Drunk or sober, he was never about taking chances and he lingered as he watched this one slip into the oblivion of  what could have been once again.  It wasn't that he wanted to pour his heart out, but he should have at least acknowledged what she had meant to him after all they had been through. Faded images of times gone by filled his mind as he drove away, headed home to an empty apartment save his cat and a fridge full of beer to soothe his empty heart. A little maudlin, but given his penchant for screwing up relationships, perhaps the most apt description of this day.
  She had been a fixture in his daily routine for as long as his faulty memory could allow him to remember. While it had only been a few years, his fuzzy recollection was sure it felt like forever. That smile etched in his brain like a fire brand on his skin and the lilt of her voice lingered long after she said her last words to him that final day, her composure a sure sign he would never see her again in his mind.
  Their relationship had always been above board but he felt more could have been found if he wasn't such a damn coward. They went deep many a night at that chain pub around the corner from work and even though it remained unspoken, they both felt that there were moments left in the past where it could have been so much more. Knee deep into their 5th pitcher of Coors Banquet and trading off the buying of shots of cheap whiskey, they came close but never could make it over the mutual fear of ruining something that meant so much to their day to day existence.
  Driving home, he paused at every stop sign and red light, trying to work up the courage to turn his old truck around and go back to lay it all out for her. Did he think she would agree and run to him with open arms or was that delusion even too much for his cynical mind.  But still he drove slower than usual as he wondered if a grand gesture was indeed what was warranted to turn his rapidly diminishing life around.
  Pulling into the municipal lot his building shared with the surrounding businesses downtown, he made sure his pass was visible on the dash lest he get a ticket he would be too lazy to fight and would end up costing him more than a few pints around the corner. The contents of his now empty desk were in the backseat and while it was probably a good idea to take it all upstairs or even more appropriately to the nearby dumpster, he felt leaving it there meant she existed for a little while longer in his life.
  Many nights he had chosen poorly and this was to be yet another nail in his long and lonely coffin to self immolation at the tap handles. The not so newish brewpub beckoned and as the Friday night traffic swirled beside him, he pushed open the doors and was met with the familiar face of the people who poured happiness by the glass and always had a little extra for the man who had so little.
Greetings and the usual social graces were exchanged and as he headed to his usual corner booth to wallow in what may be yet another poor decision, he noticed a familiar hand raising a pint and realised that she was here, waiting and with that, everything changed...

Thursday on the Patio (Part 5)

"One more round"
  Nothing made him feel better than when he had time for just one more. He knew it would leave him feeling a little fuzzy and probably lead to more than one nightcap when he got home, but he couldn't help himself.
  These post work retreats to the patio at the local chain restaurant were always a little disappointing and the selection of beer was at best a disaster of light and overpriced macro beers with one or two 'blah' craft beers tossed in to appeal to no one in particular. His craft beer pals avoided places like this with a passion and his workmates didn't get all the fuss about something as pedestrian as beer. But for appearances sake and to keep up his position at work, he would join in this near the end of the week ritual and its cheap buckets of Corona that made everyone else so happy.
  The menus at these places were a jumble of slogans, symbols and terrible jokes that made him long for a well made burger and a strong IPA. The nachos were heaped but the quality matched the price and always made him consider whether he hated himself enough to wash it down with more quasi beer in an attempt to look like a normal, well adjusted person. Fried appetizers appeared and someone made a comment about corporate that drew gales of laughter from the group. He had missed the joke but knew how to play along and guffawed like a jackass before he pounded yet another watered down version of a beer he would never love.
  He longed for a return to the taproom, it was but minutes down the road. He tried once to take everyone there, but they struggled with trying the different styles and complained about the lack of fishbowl sized mixed drinks and overflowing $10 buckets of beer. He lacked the nuance or conviction to educate people and went along with them as they returned to their routine and the banality of mass produced food and beer.
  He knew them to be good people, solid parents and in most cases, contributing members of society. He was none of these but he played a part as best he could, only occasionally slipping up and having a few too many. He was a happy drunk, but a sloppy one and these little forays into suburban culture taught him how to cover his latent asshole tendencies and drink with some kind of moderation. But to be honest, a half dozen Corona's didn't do that much, so the shot of whisky he grabbed while saying he had to hit the washroom left a glow on his face belied by the tepid beer in front of him. No glass, just pump a lime into the bottle, turn it round and drink.
  For most people, the hour or so spent on this patio represented a break from the duties of home, a stolen moment laughed about as ditching responsibility but never over done and always home before the sun got too low. They had all long ago made the transition to proper adulthood and gone on merrily to that life with open arms. No regrets and a future of 40 hours a week and a couple of vacations at the beach with the kids until it was time to retire. Milestones met along the way marking progress and finally validation of a life well lived. On this point, he envied them, feeling the weight of his increasing age pulling him down and the only milestone he was looking forward to was the pie in the sky dream of travelling to Europe to explore beer in a way he dreamed of.
  He came round from his ruminations to see the party was breaking up, dinner time was calling and so too were the multitude of sports everyone's children seemed to play. Coach Mom or Dad jackets were stored in the SUV and as he said his good byes until tomorrow, he waited until the last person climbed into their symbols of success and headed back into the bar, having decided not to ruin great beer by trying to drink it after this day. One more round and he could Uber home and fall into an intermittent slumber with a feeling that maybe tomorrow he'd find a way to make it better, to make it work again.