I am sitting in the No Name Bar having a pleasant martini while waiting for my wife when the guy next to me, who looks a little like an angry troll, tries to strike up a conversation.
It is not unusual for strangers to converse at a bar, but it usually begins with "How about them Dodgers" or them Lakers or whoever is in the sporting news on that particular day. It is never an invitation to discuss anything that is either intellectually challenging or otherwise in need of extensive knowledge. Haiku poets and professors of Victorian literature do not hang out in Van Nuys bars.
In this particular instance the troll does not engage in the usual pleasantries. He is watching the 6 o'clock news on a TV set behind the bar. It is focusing on the tragedy in Japan when he suddenly says, "Those damned Japs are sure getting what's coming to them." Then he takes a swig of beer from a bottle.
His statement startles me on several levels, namely its bigotry, its hatred and its absolute disdain for a people who are suffering so much. Normally I would ignore such a comment or even move to another bar stool, but I am drawn to the man's cruelty.
"No one deserves what they're going through," I say, attempting to remain even-natured above a cauldron of rage that is beginning to bubble in me.
"God's paying them back for Pearl Harbor," the man says.
I visualize him as a troll of children's literature, living under a bridge somewhere and hurling
threats and invectives at those who pass by. He is short, bearded and broad shouldered with a mouth that is perpetually down-turned, as though he has just eaten something foul or distasteful."You're crazy," I say, turning away.
I am fuming and would like very much to suddenly spin toward him on the bar stool and punch the scowl from his face. I am sure God would not mind, but I am too old to engage in a barroom brawl, much less with a troll holding a beer bottle.
"What's your problem?" he says. "A lot of people agree with me. Everyone on my bowling team thinks God is not all that happy with the little yellow people."
"I should imagine," I reply grandly, playing Anthony Hopkins to his John Candy, "that given the temperament you apply to God, your entire bowling team is in dire jeopardy."
I decide that, short of bashing him and taking my chances with the consequences, I will simply leave him with that. I abandon a half-finished martini and stand outside to wait for my wife, knowing, thank God, that there are not many people in the Valley like the troll. It must be lonely for him under the bridge all by himself.
Al Martinez writes a column on Mondays and Fridays. He can be reached at almtz13@aol.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment