Monster

You won't know me, that I promise, but you'll
know my kind. You'll have sniggered at me at some
point in your life, everyone has, but I wasn't always like
this. I used to be like you. I had hopes and dreams, I
had a life, a wife, and even at one point I had children.
I'd love to be able to tell you that at the end of this story
there'll be an uplifting beat, something for you to nod at
and think 'okay, cool. That guy had a point,' but there
won't be I'm afraid because this just isn't that kind of
story. You may walk away from me now if you like.
You'll know where to find me if you change your mind at
a later date, at the end of this, or any one of the other
bars in this crazy little town.
No?
You staying?
Okay then, well in that case you might as well pull
up a chair and I'll get Phil the trusty barman to pour you
a drink because hell, we might as well toast to our
health, at least we've got that, right?
There was a time not all that long ago when I
looked like you, so young, so excited with the world and
what it had to offer but I tell you now, and I tell you this
because I don't want you to take my place one day, call
it a cautionary tale if you like, call it the ramblings of an
old drunk who actually isn't as old as he appears to the
outside world. You may wonder why my voice is so
raspy, and it's simple, one day a long time ago I asked
for another drink when I should have gone home in a taxi
with my friends. Oh yes, you laugh at me now, but way
back then I actually did have friends. They have all gone
now, grown up and had families of their own and here I
still am, propping up the bar and still saying 'yes' when I
should really say 'no'. I have spent too much time sitting
at the end of the bar drinking and smoking and then
when I get home throwing it all up, my stomach acid
scorching my vocal chords a little each time a chuck up.
You are right to wrinkle up your nose, it is not a
nice existence mine, but it's too late for me now. If I tried
to stop it would probably kill me. It's okay right now
though, I've been here since open doors, in an hour or
so I'll be as merry as anyone, making my rounds around
the bar, chatting animatedly with the locals, like Paul
over there by the fruit machine, or the two girls down at
the bottom playing pool when really they should be at
University. Oh yeah, I'm my very own celebrity in here,
they all know me. Some are kind and will talk; others
wrinkle up their nose at me like you had moments ago.
My name?
That's not important because at this point in my
life I am known merely as 'the drunk'.
I know, it's not nice my friend, but later when you
leave this bar and catch up with your friends you will
laugh and joke about me 'the drunk' and I just want to let
you know that all it takes is that one time when you say
'yeah, go on then, fuck it, I'll stay for another.' It's a
slippery slope my friend. At first your friends will slap
you on the back and mutter words of encouragement.
'Go on mate,' they'll say, 'get it all down you…Jesus
mate how many have you had? You're a machine.'
There may even be hi fives all around at this point as
you finish off that last drop of potent cocktail. We used
to drink double Jelly-Beans. Two shots of Bacardi,
Vodka, Malibu, Tequila, Gin, and then topped up with a
little Blackcurrent cordial, all poured into a half pint glass
and then drunk with a straw. Nice hey? Oh you
wouldn't believe how absurdly disgusting that particular
concoction is. But I would drink it because I yearned for
the spotlight. I had my friends but that was never
enough. Back then I was an attention seeking asshole
and I would do anything to step up into that spotlight. It
just so happened that my only talent that would draw in
the crowds and gain me words of admiration from my
friends was to drink and stay standing. It's not all that
incredible you know. It's like anything, if you practice at
it you will get better, and I got better and better at
drinking. I could hold more ale in my gut than the
majority of the workmen who used to come in here
could, and they too would show me respect for my
talent. This respect would only last a few minutes, until
they had drunk up and gone back to their lives, the pub
being only a pit-stop along that long road called life.
Back then I suppose it was the same for me, but pretty
soon the pit-stop became the time I spent out of the pub.
I yearned for the recognition and in here and the other
bars people knew my name. They would all move on,
the barmen becoming the managers and then selling up
to go and move to Spain or Greece, setting up
shop…but still I am here. I make friends quite quickly, if
you can really call a regular customer your friend. They
are always nice to me the bar staff, because they don't
mind taking my money.
Come on sonny, drink up, I'm not quite finished
with my story yet and I best get on with it before I forget
where about in the plot I am and then start slurring.
Fancy a whiskey? Yes, of course you do. You're still
young; you want to show a seasoned drunk like me that
you're up to it. Prove to yourself as well as the world
that you're a man, right?
How did I know? I keep telling you my friend; I
am you, just twenty years later. And that's why I'm
telling you this, so that one day you can sit where I am
and tell a kid sitting where you are about your life. You'll
try to warn him too but he won't listen. He'll think as I
once did and as you probably do right now that you can
handle it, you're young and you're having fun like
everyone does, right?
Yes, of course I'm right. I've had plenty of hours
to think, you know? I've had plenty of days and weeks
and months sitting here, or across the road in one of the
bars there, about my life, where I went wrong, and it all
stems from the first time you decide that you will have
another quick one for the road despite the fact that you
had to go to the toilet to throw up the last drink. It was to
make room in your stomach right? Oh yes, I remember
the old lines. My friends would shake their heads and
laugh at me. What was I like hey? What a complete
and utter nutter, but still, what a nice guy.
Yep…I'll hold my hands up to you right now and
admit, I am an alcoholic and I have been ever since that
day. Sure, at first it's 'having fun' and you tell your
friends, and even your girlfriend if you've managed to
bag yourself one, that when it stops becoming fun, that
is when you'll stop drinking. Only it doesn't work like
that. You'll be drunk when it stops becoming fun, and in
the morning when you wake up having pissed the bed
and been sick all over the room, you'll feel more sober
than you ever have in your entire life. You'll clean
yourself up, try and wash the dirty sheets, disinfect the
floor, and then drink a few coffees to try and sort your
head out. Then that afternoon you'll be walking back
from the supermarket having bought yourself a new set
of bed sheets, and you'll pass the pub. It'll be the middle
of the day still and the thought of entering last night's
scene of the crime will repulse you…until you hear the
lively chatter and the slight whiff of cigarette smoke on
the air. It is always warm and safe in the pub isn't it?
And in your fragile state, with your head banging like a
bastard, warm and safe is all you want to be. You'll
shake hands with the barman as he grins and tells you
what mischief you'd gotten up to the night before, and
you will smile and shake your head apologetically. You
feel safe again and you decide to stay for just a half.
Just chatting to the barman. Your life can be put on hold
for half an hour or so while you sort your head out.
I'm still in that half an hour now, the new sheets
still need to be put on the bed and I doubt now if that will
ever happen. My half an hour while I sort my head out
has lasted for twenty three years and I don't know how
longer still it will last. Perhaps I'll fall over one night
staggering home drunk and bang my head wrong like old
man 'Whiskey' Munrowe did last year. At least it was
quick for him; at least he went out singing merrily to
himself. No, mine will be a long and drawn out process,
but I've dedicated my life to the drink now, there would
be no point in moaning on, so go on…be off with you,
your friends will be waiting for you in the next bar. This
is, after all, a Saturday night, time to celebrate and live
your immortal lives.
I'll keep an eye out or you. It won't be long. Soon
enough you'll be here sitting where I am and I'll be
where old 'Whiskey' Munrowe is, but that's life though,
right? Enjoy the ride while it lasts because pretty soon
you'll be having your half an hour in here just to get over
that hangover. That I promise.
Now sit down and shut up and listen to the stories I'm
about to tell you- because first and foremost they are
true- and secondly, you just might LEARN something
that might fill that addled little head of yours besides
Sally's Rum. Listen, I know I may not look like one that
can spin a tale or even knit a good yarn for that matter but
these eyes have seen their days-
Drowning inside or spinning outside of a vodka bottle.
What? Why? Well, because you look like you could take
it- take it all in like a fine vintage bouquet- and savor it and
enjoy the palate- the flavor-the smell, the taste. The
taste of pain, perhaps- but the taste of experience is far
sweeter don't you think? Well, just sit right back there in
the bar stool, Matey. I ain't done with ye yet. Yes, this is
the Pure stuff right here. This is the Pure.