BackdoorArts
Senior Member
Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you got
Taking a break from all your worries
It sure would help a lot
Wouldn't you like to get away
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name
And they're always glad you came
You want to be where you can see
The troubles are all the same
You want to be where everybody knows your name
One day on my way home from work they were doing construction on my normal route so I had to find a different way. As I traveled I passed a little pub that seemed to be an inviting little diversion out of the cold, so I popped in. Sure enough, it was a welcoming place, full of the usual cast of characters. It made for nice conversation, I learned a thing or two and I made a note to myself to pop in again.
And I did.
And I did again.
Pretty soon it wasn't just a quick diversion but a destination. While I hated the commute I found myself looking forward to getting to the part of the day where I could pop in and stay a while. Heck, I even started leaving work early so I could get there, and would even stay long enough that I'd occasionally get in trouble for being late for dinner and even missing some of kids' stuff. But it was something outside the mundane, I liked the people and they liked me. Like any pub you'd get your occasional loud parties and obnoxious folk, but like every place full of regulars that stuff almost always sorts itself out over time, particularly when the bartenders work with people with a regular stool and remind someone when they've had one too many and maybe it's time to move on.
One day I walked in after a brief vacation and noticed a new face. It was hard not to notice because they were everywhere. No one could have a conversation without them sticking their nose in, early and often. It didn't matter what it was about, they knew something about it and needed to make sure that you knew. It was as if they took the annoying parts of Frasier Crane and the know-it-all parts of Cliff Clavin and left out everything endearing.
Now all bars get those kind of people, and you can usually learn to ignore them until they go away. Problem was, this guy didn't seem to want to, and to make matters worse he drove the same kind of car I did, liked the same ball clubs and listened to the same kind of music, so there wasn't a damn thing I could talk about any more without having to suffer through his verbal diarrhea – which wouldn't have been so bad had he not managed to butt his way into every conversation before I got there, and filled it with so much nonsense and misinformation that even adding something constructive required first rebutting the BS that had been spread thick and wide already. To a person, when I asked what the deal was with this guy they all had the same opinion, and yet here he was, not going anywhere. It got so that I actually had to force myself through the doors some days because I knew that there was a strong chance I wasn't walking out of there happy I came. I wanted the bartenders to do something about him, but I remembered back to that wise old guy that used to work there, who had replied to me once when I asked him why he wouldn't toss someone, “You know, there ain't no laws against being an asshole. And sometimes that's for our own protection.”
So one day, after a particularly infuriating experience, I walked out. I walked out, looked around, and looked in the mirror. I noticed that the construction that had made me take the long way home had long ago ended and that my commute was now 10 minutes shorter than even before. I noticed that I'd put on 25 pounds of beer belly and was developing both an ulcer and a weak liver. And I noticed my wife had stopped getting angry at my missing dinner and was now indifferent, and the kids no longer expected me to show up for anything. And I noticed I was spending far too much time talking about stuff and not nearly enough time doing it. So I decided that as much as I was going to miss everyone there, leaving was ultimately the best thing for me.
Now, that doesn't mean that if they ever close the road again and I find myself back on that side street that I won't pop in. But having come to this realization I know that if I do it'll never be the same, no matter how welcoming the old faces are. Not because of them but because of me, because if I go back I'm turning my back on all the right reasons I had for walking away. And if I did, it could quickly undo any good that the departure did.
Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, but even then there's a time when you need to leave. Sometimes it just takes someone giving you the shove you wouldn't give yourself.
Takes everything you got
Taking a break from all your worries
It sure would help a lot
Wouldn't you like to get away
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name
And they're always glad you came
You want to be where you can see
The troubles are all the same
You want to be where everybody knows your name
One day on my way home from work they were doing construction on my normal route so I had to find a different way. As I traveled I passed a little pub that seemed to be an inviting little diversion out of the cold, so I popped in. Sure enough, it was a welcoming place, full of the usual cast of characters. It made for nice conversation, I learned a thing or two and I made a note to myself to pop in again.
And I did.
And I did again.
Pretty soon it wasn't just a quick diversion but a destination. While I hated the commute I found myself looking forward to getting to the part of the day where I could pop in and stay a while. Heck, I even started leaving work early so I could get there, and would even stay long enough that I'd occasionally get in trouble for being late for dinner and even missing some of kids' stuff. But it was something outside the mundane, I liked the people and they liked me. Like any pub you'd get your occasional loud parties and obnoxious folk, but like every place full of regulars that stuff almost always sorts itself out over time, particularly when the bartenders work with people with a regular stool and remind someone when they've had one too many and maybe it's time to move on.
One day I walked in after a brief vacation and noticed a new face. It was hard not to notice because they were everywhere. No one could have a conversation without them sticking their nose in, early and often. It didn't matter what it was about, they knew something about it and needed to make sure that you knew. It was as if they took the annoying parts of Frasier Crane and the know-it-all parts of Cliff Clavin and left out everything endearing.
Now all bars get those kind of people, and you can usually learn to ignore them until they go away. Problem was, this guy didn't seem to want to, and to make matters worse he drove the same kind of car I did, liked the same ball clubs and listened to the same kind of music, so there wasn't a damn thing I could talk about any more without having to suffer through his verbal diarrhea – which wouldn't have been so bad had he not managed to butt his way into every conversation before I got there, and filled it with so much nonsense and misinformation that even adding something constructive required first rebutting the BS that had been spread thick and wide already. To a person, when I asked what the deal was with this guy they all had the same opinion, and yet here he was, not going anywhere. It got so that I actually had to force myself through the doors some days because I knew that there was a strong chance I wasn't walking out of there happy I came. I wanted the bartenders to do something about him, but I remembered back to that wise old guy that used to work there, who had replied to me once when I asked him why he wouldn't toss someone, “You know, there ain't no laws against being an asshole. And sometimes that's for our own protection.”
So one day, after a particularly infuriating experience, I walked out. I walked out, looked around, and looked in the mirror. I noticed that the construction that had made me take the long way home had long ago ended and that my commute was now 10 minutes shorter than even before. I noticed that I'd put on 25 pounds of beer belly and was developing both an ulcer and a weak liver. And I noticed my wife had stopped getting angry at my missing dinner and was now indifferent, and the kids no longer expected me to show up for anything. And I noticed I was spending far too much time talking about stuff and not nearly enough time doing it. So I decided that as much as I was going to miss everyone there, leaving was ultimately the best thing for me.
Now, that doesn't mean that if they ever close the road again and I find myself back on that side street that I won't pop in. But having come to this realization I know that if I do it'll never be the same, no matter how welcoming the old faces are. Not because of them but because of me, because if I go back I'm turning my back on all the right reasons I had for walking away. And if I did, it could quickly undo any good that the departure did.
Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, but even then there's a time when you need to leave. Sometimes it just takes someone giving you the shove you wouldn't give yourself.