Every man's life ends the same way.

It is only the details of how he lived

and how he died that distinguishes one man from another.

I question that quote now, more now, than any time before. I suppose theres
a multitude of ways going about analyzing that quote, but to put it simply, I disagree
with it. Mostly with naivety of the quote, humanity has a way of being all toobasic.
Sigmund Freud stated in his theories that human ambitions derive from
animal instincts (curiously, he specifically thought that we were driven by sex) and
that our daily activities are only reflections of our instincts. Which makes sense: we
choose to work so we can pay for food, a house, etc. A further study on this topic was
brought up by psychologist Abraham Maslow called Maslows Hierarchy of Needs.
It explains that the bases of all of our needs are physiological (food, water,
breathing, etc.) and further goes into safety, love and belonging, esteem, and self-
actualization. The study explains that the majority of human beings (except those
that are ill) follow this structural idea.
Its sad, really, but true that we all are built of the same ideas, the same
needs, and the same principles. How truly unique could someone be if we all just
shit, eat, sleep, and reproduce? What difference can one make with such primitive
demeanors? What is the difference between a fool and myself? Is there a distinctive
quality that I have or am I just the same as him? And although there may be such
brilliant minds such as Einstein, Pavlov, and Darwin (just to name a few), they all
have made such a minor dent into the common mans perception. The common
mans perception is all too dull and he will say such obvious observations of what is
going on in the world The weather sure is hot today! as he chuckles with great joy
thinking that he and I can talk about such an appauling topic that a god damned
monkey can understand. It takes no more than a simple Skin too hot. Weather no
good. I mean, what the hell does he want me to do? Give him the Nobel Prize for
the most genius understanding of our world?
Such observations and questions are so thoughtless. Whats going on with the
weather today? Who is the latest celebrity banging and are they cheating? YES! Of
course theyre cheating! Who are they cheating with? Whats next for the couple and
how will they recuperate after such a tragedy? BETTER YET, how will America
recover? How selfish are the celebrities to deny us of such a perfect life, their social
lives polluting ours. SPEAKING OF POLLUTION, have you heard of the new study
that were screwing up the environment! Well, I dont believe in that. In what, the
environment? Correct, I dont believe in the environment, its not realreality
shows, cars, houses, jobs, Republicans, Democrats, immigrants, milk prices, gas
prices, school, environmental disasters, horoscopes, plane crashes, shootings,
terrorists, communists, YOU NAME IT, anything that every single one of us
experiences on a daily basis is in a common mans conversation. Its things like this
that really dissolve that quote.
So I stand in a room full of monotonous and instinctual based people as they
continue on with their pitiful lives. I take a seat in the nearest chair to me as I watch
conversations flow, waiting for some spark in humanity. Drinks are passed on from
one to another, and for what? I suppose to deal with the lack of cognitive ability (the
irony!)or more than likely, to get laid. The people here are in that same routine:
eat, sleep, shit, and have sex. Perhaps its time for my own drink, Ill need something
to masquerade myself in this room full of fools. Which brings me back to the man
who spawned the earlier quote, Ernest Hemmingway. Not only did he say what was
previously quoted, but also there was another quote from the man (Surprising, isnt
it? The man said more than one thing.) An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be
drunk to spend time with his fools. Id have to say hes correct, but to add to it,
perhaps an intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to act like his fools. In
which, I say cheers.
So I take a careful look at the selection of medication presented before me,
but the damned bartender is staring at me from the corner of his bar as if Ive
started some type of ruckus, which makes it harder for me to focus. I begin to stare
back at him and he starts to wipe down his already clean cup so he could act like
hes busy or some bullshit. The man is a young and built, clearly, because he chose to
shop at Baby Gap so he could show everyone in the bar his muscle definition. It
almost looks like the shirt is about to rip or hes simply going to hulk out of it in
some type of roid rage as he scrubs the cup. Maybe hell get angry about the lack of
dirt in it and accidently grip it too hard causing it to break in his hand. I could see it
now, Baby Gap Bartender with glass in his hand, blood gushing and shooting in all
directions and fools making their captivating observations. Hed run around the bar
looking for something to stop the bleeding, but nothing will help because the glass
has already hit the artery and he will be too much of an imbecile to call the
ambulance. No, hell just try to apply layers and layers of paper towels, but hed be
making a dam for an ocean. And still, his shirt wouldnt rip. Its impossible. I dont
understand it. So the guy goes about washing this clean dish and I continue on with
my endeavor to be able to deal with his existence. A few shots, or perhaps a few
beers in and Ill be able to bear him, hell, give me a god damned pitcher and his shirt
will even look nice. To hell with that, itll fit him perfect!
Bourbon, I gag at saying the word. I look furthervodkatequilano, none of
those. Id prefer not to have the sting of hard liquor lingering in the back of my
throat like what acid reflux causes. The beer selection surprisingly is quite limited
here, judging by the amount of people, the city its located in, and the style of the
place, youd think that theyd have more. My assumption is that theyre trying to go
for that whole minimalist idea, but to me theres no logic behind something like
that. I get the idea of having twenty shirts with ten different styles in a clothing
store, but its just to make them look more valuable because the lack of quantity
they have. LIMITED STOCK, BUY NOW! Which is bullshit, by the way, if you were to
ask me. Give me a store with a thousand of the same shirt and ten different styles
and Id still feel the same way, but Id probably think that the store requires a higher
stock due to the demand of shirts. I guess this goes back to the whole basic needs
thing. So I go on judging which beer to choose: default beer number 1, 2, 3, or 4?
It almost seems as though theyre choosing for me at this point so I motion
for the guy at the end of the bar. He almost acts surprised or caught off guard when I
motion him over. The man was so fixated on cleaning that glass he almost forgot he
had customers, what a concept! He trots over, and plants his hands on the bar
making him look like hes about to do a push-up or something.
What can I do ya for?
I dont get where phrases like that come from. YeahuhI just want a pint
of beer number 1.
Shit. I slipped. Too late to fix it now.
He just laughs, hands still on the counter, head pressing against my personal
space, my bubble being penetrated by this beast. His look no longer nervous, I gave
him the higher ground (not to mention that his head is also only slightly above mine,
looking down at me). Was he even nervous before? This new confidence now
defeats my observation, a kind of paradox. Was he actually just cleaning the glass
and happened to look away as I turned my focus to him? A question unanswered. Is
Beer 1 PBR, Stella, Newcastle, or Blue Moon? he asks.
I now begin to get nervous. I know why, and he knows why too. The cocky
Baby Gap guy is now in my face with his sarcastic tone, he has a reason to be alpha
male and he definitely wont pass up the opportunity. Thats my pass at trying to be
social for the night. I say PBR and he ends the conversation with my total, not even
asking if I want to leave the tab open.
The pint, now sitting before me, has foam filling half of the glass and almost
escaping the confined space its held in. I wonder if he did this on purpose. Was I
staring at him? I had been told by one of my friends once that I stare at people.
Every now and again I catch myself actually doing it, but isnt that somewhat of a
normal thing? I guess she wouldnt have brought it up if it were. So I guess I was
staring at him and when I finally beckoned him over he thought it would be a great
idea to demonstrate his male dominance. Sure did scare me, with his foam and all.
Which makes me think of this article I once read about male dominanceor
maybe it was a documentaryor was it in one of my psych classes? It doesnt
matter, the point is that the struggle for dominance (or power hunger, which ever
you prefer), is usually associated with being a sociopath or having some type of
mental disorder, but thats only regarding the need for power. I find it interesting
that whenever we see someone struggle for power, whether it being manipulating,
killing, or some other means that we often make a quick go-to blame like mental
disorders. It seems as though the modern day witch-hunt is just a fight against
anything we might see as a flaw. Normal behaviors like the one I just experienced
are now described as something negative and off-putting because hes this sociopath
or whatever other disorder you want to label him with. When checking the numbers
of the people with all of these disorders it seems quite curious as to why half of the
population has something wrong with them and a tenth of those people are seen as
bad guys. If someone with a mental disorder such as dyslexia were to be exposed to
the public, the public would immediately be there with open arms and a welcoming
environment. On the contrary, as soon as someone was to describe a sociopath or
some type of disorder accompanied by manipulation then we must shun the person
and have him or her arrested. Male dominance is no more than the combination or
single usage of either manipulation or physical dominance. You can see it in the
animal kingdom all of the time: a pride of lions will have their male leader contested
through his own decisions and those that protest him. The pride has no room for a
weak leader and must maintain their group as best they can.
I question what this guy was after. Was it the need for power or was it a
challenge for dominance? In my case, I think, the male saw his superiority in
question by another man. As in most animals, he immediately acts defensive and
retreats to cleaning his glass. Being called over by the man, he is now aware that he
must decide: either accepts his fate as a less dominate male or take action. The
bartender chooses the same route that the pride would: contesting the leader.
Unaware of such a thing going on, I fumble my words and he acts prideful in his
intimidation. He can now continue taking action as a man, proving he is the one in
control, he takes my drink and pours me a foam-filled glass and probably a little bit
of spit while I wasnt paying attention.
Unfortunately, this is a daily regimen for men and their lack of confidence.
They constantly have to prove themselves one way or another. I guess its just
something we have to deal with, but its fucking annoying.
I take a quick look around the bar. The place is lit up as if it were supposed to
be from the future or something, as are most hip clubs. The floors are made of glass
and have this strange block inside of them, where the edges have something that
looks like the ocean, a wavy kind of form. Outside of these blocks are lights that will
blind if you if you decide to look directly at them. They radiate blue light that
pollutes the area of the bar. Each block of glass has four of these things, surrounding
the blue wavy block inside of the glass. Outside each block of glass is small grey
filler, not sure what it is to be honest. Im not exactly inclined to go out and touch it
to see what it is either. The bar sits just below the dance area; to me its a
representation of who is lonely and who isnt. Just a few steps will take you to the
dance area. Inside the open bar space are a couple of filler-type of high-rise tables
along with their high-rise chairs, which make it impossible to sit on.
The bar itself extends forty feet, Im pretty sure. I cant really tell though, Im
bad at guessing those types of things. It contains enough seats to go around. The
rest of the place I could give a shit about explaining; Ill only waste both of our time
describing the small details that dont matter. Now you know where Im sitting at
least.
The foam settles which indicates its time for me to have a swig at it. I need
the alcohol in my system, and seeing as though mister hot shot is in no mood to
serve me more, I finish my drink fairly quickly. Its a questionable environment here
seeing as those Mark (the bartender), closed my tab fairly quickly. As a business
owner, I would assume you would put a little more effort into treating your patrons
a better than he did, but thats the reason Im here: the guy is a prick. Whether its
his Baby Gab t-shirts or his smug face with the age of a forty year old man and lines
that seep so much into his skin that it casts shadows like a valley darkened by the
plateau above it. His coarse skin that tells you he can light matches off it and
probably supplement it as sand paper and his smileGod, dont get me started on
that. The look of utmost confidence when hes not being challenged by another
male, he has this grin on only one side of his face which causes his ugly skin to make
new valleys like the Grinchs smile. And although he may look like hes in his forties,
you can just tell its the wear and tear the world has given him, it could be the abuse
of a father or a drug infested life style, but his age still shows under his mask.
If Mark isnt enough for you, Im here for his employees who are just a bunch
of hookers hired by the guy. Well, previously they werent hookers, but now they
are. A bunch of immigrants that came over in promises of new opportunities: as it
always was, America, the free. Enslaved by capitalism and this man, this man whose
hands reach further than their physical ability. The poor women who work here,
with his invisible hand on their mouths, unable to speak unless told, unable to eat,
sleep, drink, or breathe unless his godly self deems it okay. Im here for him, or
better yet, Im here on behalf of my company.
You see, the company I work for is an investigative company: we look further
into things after the cops have given up or just dont care. I guess you could call me
the grunt of the company; Im just the guy that goes to gather a few things here or
there. Whether its collecting evidence: cocaine, a picture, or a witness, it doesnt
matter; Im the guy they send for the dirty work. I know it sounds simple, but it
really isnt when you have assholes like this running a game thats impossible for me
to work off of.
Here you have a bunch of illegals that my company and I would rather not
have deported. The reason being, that one of these ladies hired us on. I guess despite
the wage decrease this guy subtlety has going on from the start of their hire, she was
able to gather enough money to ask us for help. What help we might do, Im not sure.
All the information we know is what I already said: he hires illegals with the
promise of good pay and convinces them to sell their bodies so that they can send
money to their families outside of the U.S. and so that his business will satisfy the
sexual desires of incoming male customers (they dont even know theyre paid, just
that theyre getting laid). What these ladies dont know is that over time he
decreases their pay until its close to nothing or nothing at all, but what can they do?
Call the cops? Theyll easily get deported in the process, and this guy has such a hold
on them that they wont want to do that let alone think of doing it. Every now and
then the guy will pay them well and make them think that theyre okay, and that
their families will survive another day, but when hes done with these women hell
throw them out, back into the streets where they have no where to go and itll be too
late for them to go back to their home, theyre already here (and for that matter,
their family needs them here). Theyre already hungrythey havent eaten in the
past couple of days so they could send money to their family, because before it
would have been fine, hed pay them eventually (he always does). No, now theyre
cast out, hungry, and have to pay rent, but cant and they have no job and no other
work history. They wont find a job quick enough because by the time they do, their
landlord will kick them out and theyll not just be hungry, but starving. Their
stomachs aching from the lack of food, calling out for something, even just a little bit
of nutrition to survive. Theyll owe money for their unpaid bills and now theyre
found out. America, the free, will kick their ass out for being hungry and fucked over
by a selfish pig.
The lady that contacted us must not be involved, and neither should the rest
of these women. We cannot do to them what he has to many others.
He moves past me, watching me from the corner of his eye, his previous
nervous look now explained. He knows why Im here; hes known ever sense I
walked through the door. He doesnt look away until he passes me. Even then I can
feel his glare and hatred consume me. The walls turn dark and the lights
illuminating the color of blood that fills the room. Terror also creeps in and silences
all that are in the building. He walks into what seems to be the managers office and
everything is back to normal, his glare no longer enveloping the room.
Although Im potentially found out and want to believe this lady and as much
as my deep hatred for this man, Im here to make a case: to gather evidence, not an
opinion. For all I know, this man could have just thrown out a disgruntled employee
thats exacting her revenge. Maybe he just seemed to be nervous and I was wrong.
Maybe he didnt even give me a menacing look. Maybe there arent even employees
hired to hook up with drunk men.
A quick look around the room tells me quite the opposite. Women, clearly
from out of the country, are each talking to white men with huge grins on their faces.
I can hear their far off voices carry something of an accent. So far it adds up. I look
back for Mark in his office, but see no one: just an open door. Something on the
floora brick? Its whitea white brick. Coke.