No Apologies By Nick Halsey
“To hell with these guys!” I said from my favorite booth in my favorite dive bar—Danny’s Lounge.
My attention went back to my drink. I looked at my fiancé next to me. I shook my head and widened my eyes to show her just how angry I was at the guys playing pool across from us. TVs blared and pool balls clanked. I turned again to look toward the tables. The guys were still engrossed in shooting pool.
“Frivolous idiots,” I threw out, a little louder this time.
Nobody descended upon me. They didn’t even glance my way. And why would they? What made me so angry with these dudes was how passive they seemed, how unconcerned. It was the night of the 2016 presidential election, and there they were, casually shooting pool like it was any other Tuesday. Shooting pool, just like I had on many other nights. If I was reeling from the election results, why weren’t these fools? I mean, they looked like me—sure, maybe more the way I looked a few years back, but still—skinny, white, loose-fitting t-shirts and jeans, long hair, scruffy beards. What gave them the right not to care about what had just happened?
After work I’d planned to meet with friends at an expensive downtown bar. As soon as I got there, the election results started coming in. One by one my friends texted to say they wouldn’t be coming out. I ordered expensive beer after expensive beer. By the time Adriana arrived I was drunk, and the writing was on the wall—Trump would win. I wanted to feel camaraderie in this shock and disappointment, so I suggested we go to our friend Jon’s house.
“Babe!” she said. “I worked all day and I just want to go home...”
“Jon has food and I need to eat! What am I going to make at home? Plus, this just sucks. It’ll just be better if we, you know... go hang out. C’mon let’s just go see him.”
Jon had invited two other English teachers over. One was hunched forward on the couch, his head in his hands, lamenting what consequences this election would hold for his two-year-old son. How far would Trump walk us back in the fight against global warming? How badly would he screw up the economy, with his dogmatism about trade deals? Meanwhile, the other kept saying “Goodbye to our public lands... Wow... goodbye to the EPA.” And so on.
They soon left, and Jon wound things down, but I wasn’t ready to do the same. If Trump was going to win, why not use it as an excuse to get royally blitzed? I didn’t have any classes the next day, so why the hell not?
One thing I’d always liked about Danny’s was the people I found myself among there. The down-to-earth clientele includes hipsters, bikers, fantasy football players, gay people, straight people, struggling millennials, pensioned retirees, chronic alcoholics, and sheepish lightweights. But none of those labels matter at Danny’s. The fact that you’re there means that you’re the type of person who walks into Danny’s, and that identity supersedes all others. I had no particular expectations about whom or what I’d find when we walked in on that election night, yet somehow the sight of these complacent pool players set me off. All the anger that I’d been submerging with alcohol now shot to the surface. It wasn’t some Trump supporter drawing me toward confrontation. It was this group of guys who seemed just like me, except they were genuinely apathetic about the state of affairs.
So I hurled my insults, and nothing came of it.
“So, did you vote?” I raised my head to ask him.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“The two just seem the same to me,” he said, “it doesn’t seem to make much difference who’s in charge.”
“That’s just a cop-out. It’s weak-minded and irresponsible,” I said. I glared at him and abruptly stood to go inside.
Adriana followed a little while later, but then she went out for another cigarette. Eventually, they called closing time. I had to go out to find her, and sure enough I ran into Mr. Indifference again. Aggression isn’t normally my style. I’ve never been in a real fistfight, not even in elementary school. Every time I try the hostility act, I end up feeling embarrassed and questioning whether I really had the right to lash out. I usually convince myself that the other person didn’t deserve what I dished them. So when I saw this guy a second time, sitting there in the semi-dark, with a hand holding a cigarette and resting on the wooden table, I didn’t push.
“Hey man, I’m sorry I went on like that before. You know, it’s just been a bad night. Maybe I’ll see you here another night and buy you a drink or something...”
He waved his hand from side to side, dismissing my suggestion. Maybe he hadn’t been that offended by what I’d said earlier or maybe he thought I was just drunkenly argumentative. I suppose it’s also possible that he had considered what I’d said and realized I didn’t owe him any kind of apology. Probably not, but here’s to hoping.
I get that politicians can be sleazy and self-serving, but they still do a job that’s meaningful and necessary. Could you do any better? Would you want to deal with the responsibility, the consequences? I get uncomfortable when my English 102 students describe potential sources for their research papers as “biased.” Sure, it may take a political position, but that doesn’t mean it’s out to manipulate. It’s important to create discourse and challenge ideas. It’s our duty to use our voices, use our votes, and make a stand.
I’ve always hated South Park. It’s a show that can’t stand to take anything seriously. The too-cool-to-care attitude was rotten in seventh grade, and there’s even less excuse for it now. I won’t apologize for saying it.
My attention went back to my drink. I looked at my fiancé next to me. I shook my head and widened my eyes to show her just how angry I was at the guys playing pool across from us. TVs blared and pool balls clanked. I turned again to look toward the tables. The guys were still engrossed in shooting pool.
“Frivolous idiots,” I threw out, a little louder this time.
Nobody descended upon me. They didn’t even glance my way. And why would they? What made me so angry with these dudes was how passive they seemed, how unconcerned. It was the night of the 2016 presidential election, and there they were, casually shooting pool like it was any other Tuesday. Shooting pool, just like I had on many other nights. If I was reeling from the election results, why weren’t these fools? I mean, they looked like me—sure, maybe more the way I looked a few years back, but still—skinny, white, loose-fitting t-shirts and jeans, long hair, scruffy beards. What gave them the right not to care about what had just happened?
* * *
My fiancé, Adriana, and I had come to Danny’s because it was a mere three blocks from home and therefore a logical place to continue drinking. She’d worked over ten hours at a polling station and I had had a full day teaching writing classes at the community college. I’d left work after chatting with my Green Party-member co-worker in the adjunct faculty office. We talked about the election like it was some kind of lopsided Super Bowl matchup. Of course Hillary would win.After work I’d planned to meet with friends at an expensive downtown bar. As soon as I got there, the election results started coming in. One by one my friends texted to say they wouldn’t be coming out. I ordered expensive beer after expensive beer. By the time Adriana arrived I was drunk, and the writing was on the wall—Trump would win. I wanted to feel camaraderie in this shock and disappointment, so I suggested we go to our friend Jon’s house.
“Babe!” she said. “I worked all day and I just want to go home...”
“Jon has food and I need to eat! What am I going to make at home? Plus, this just sucks. It’ll just be better if we, you know... go hang out. C’mon let’s just go see him.”
Jon had invited two other English teachers over. One was hunched forward on the couch, his head in his hands, lamenting what consequences this election would hold for his two-year-old son. How far would Trump walk us back in the fight against global warming? How badly would he screw up the economy, with his dogmatism about trade deals? Meanwhile, the other kept saying “Goodbye to our public lands... Wow... goodbye to the EPA.” And so on.
They soon left, and Jon wound things down, but I wasn’t ready to do the same. If Trump was going to win, why not use it as an excuse to get royally blitzed? I didn’t have any classes the next day, so why the hell not?
* * *
I marched through the front door at Danny’s and straight up to the bar to order us a couple Chivas Regals—still the one and only time I’ve ordered call liquor at Danny’s. It tasted like the well stuff. Then my attention was drawn to the guys at the pool tables.One thing I’d always liked about Danny’s was the people I found myself among there. The down-to-earth clientele includes hipsters, bikers, fantasy football players, gay people, straight people, struggling millennials, pensioned retirees, chronic alcoholics, and sheepish lightweights. But none of those labels matter at Danny’s. The fact that you’re there means that you’re the type of person who walks into Danny’s, and that identity supersedes all others. I had no particular expectations about whom or what I’d find when we walked in on that election night, yet somehow the sight of these complacent pool players set me off. All the anger that I’d been submerging with alcohol now shot to the surface. It wasn’t some Trump supporter drawing me toward confrontation. It was this group of guys who seemed just like me, except they were genuinely apathetic about the state of affairs.
So I hurled my insults, and nothing came of it.
* * *
Adriana decided that if I was going to let loose, then she might as well do the same. She got up to seek a cigarette on the back patio. I ordered another drink, well liquor this time, and then walked back to find her. She sat at one of the long picnic tables, chatting with a stranger between drags. I slid into the bench next to her and across from the stranger. In the dark of the patio it took me a minute to register the guy was one of the pool players. As he and Adriana chatted, it was clear he wasn’t concerned by the news of the evening.“So, did you vote?” I raised my head to ask him.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“The two just seem the same to me,” he said, “it doesn’t seem to make much difference who’s in charge.”
“That’s just a cop-out. It’s weak-minded and irresponsible,” I said. I glared at him and abruptly stood to go inside.
Adriana followed a little while later, but then she went out for another cigarette. Eventually, they called closing time. I had to go out to find her, and sure enough I ran into Mr. Indifference again. Aggression isn’t normally my style. I’ve never been in a real fistfight, not even in elementary school. Every time I try the hostility act, I end up feeling embarrassed and questioning whether I really had the right to lash out. I usually convince myself that the other person didn’t deserve what I dished them. So when I saw this guy a second time, sitting there in the semi-dark, with a hand holding a cigarette and resting on the wooden table, I didn’t push.
“Hey man, I’m sorry I went on like that before. You know, it’s just been a bad night. Maybe I’ll see you here another night and buy you a drink or something...”
He waved his hand from side to side, dismissing my suggestion. Maybe he hadn’t been that offended by what I’d said earlier or maybe he thought I was just drunkenly argumentative. I suppose it’s also possible that he had considered what I’d said and realized I didn’t owe him any kind of apology. Probably not, but here’s to hoping.
* * *
Adriana and I woke up late the next morning groaning from our headaches and our disbelief over what had happened the day before. If I’d just been content to go home, I could have made this day easier on myself. But now, besides feeling leveled by Trump’s election, I had a piercing hangover and an immense regret—not over my initial hostility towards those guys at Danny’s, but over the way I’d gone back on my words. I’d failed to stand up for my beliefs to a guy I’d hated because he didn’t stand for anything.
* * *
Three years later, I have no more respect for cynicism than I did then. I say this as a self-identified liberal who has plenty of frustration for people on the right but also, in this era of President #45, for people on the left. I feel that many of those on “my side” have reacted to Trump by becoming factional and orthodox. Too often, I now see lefties condemning other lefties, those who won’t adopt beliefs as radical as theirs. So yes, I have disagreements with some people who also wish to see #45 gone after four years, but I won’t condemn them. We need to work together. I won’t let my frustration with people on each side lead me to the sense of “it doesn’t matter who’s in charge.”I get that politicians can be sleazy and self-serving, but they still do a job that’s meaningful and necessary. Could you do any better? Would you want to deal with the responsibility, the consequences? I get uncomfortable when my English 102 students describe potential sources for their research papers as “biased.” Sure, it may take a political position, but that doesn’t mean it’s out to manipulate. It’s important to create discourse and challenge ideas. It’s our duty to use our voices, use our votes, and make a stand.
I’ve always hated South Park. It’s a show that can’t stand to take anything seriously. The too-cool-to-care attitude was rotten in seventh grade, and there’s even less excuse for it now. I won’t apologize for saying it.
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Nick Halsey teaches writing and ESL classes in Tucson, Arizona, where he lives with his cat, Albondiga. He enjoys playing tennis in the desert heat and visiting his family in the San Diego area. |