There's Always A Story There

Kevin is crewing on our friends racecar tonight so I'm left to my own devices.
I decided to just order takeout from the bar that's five minutes away.  It seems like I always come out of there with some sort of a story.  Because: small town bar.

I usually try not to pay any attention to the people sitting at the bar, it just never ends well. 

Tonight there was a guy about my age sitting at the end of the bar. I happened to accidentally catch his eye when I looked up.  He just looked broken, not lifelong alcoholic, lost soul broken but heartbreaking sadness broken.  It nearly took my breath away. 

I turned to concentrate on something else so I began reading the notes on the bar by the cash register.  There was one in pink highlighter that was titled "Sheila"

It said "If Sheila comes in, do not serve her alcohol.  Do not allow anyone else to buy her alcohol.  Her husband will call..." and that's as far as I got.

The owner of the bar finished ringing me up.  He's a giant of a guy and I think his name is Chris or Cory.  He seems like a super nice guy.  I asked him: "I'm sorry, I was snooping.  What's with that note?"

"Oh, Sheila.  She comes in here, gets drunk, and doesn't come home.  Her husband gets mad that she drinks so he calls the Sheriff and says we overserve her.  So now we just don't let her drink anymore."

Well, that's one way to deal with Sheila's drinking, I suppose.  I guess it's nice that the bar lets her continue to come hang out with her friends but it sure seems like a lot of hassle for everyone.

There's always a story there. I chose to focus on Sheila's, which I suspect was only slightly less heartbreaking than the guy at the bar.