We were drinking at this bar in Arlington that I don't really like. It's crowded, everyone seems to be having fun (which is annoying), and it's divided up into six or seven separate rooms, which makes it kind of like getting drunk at the house of some random dude who happens to have several pool tables and a proclivity for inviting over old skanks. Anyway, my buddy Scott and I were discussing the fact that I don't like said bar and he said, paraphrasing...
"You just don't like it because there are people here."
I started to take offense to that, but then I realized that that's actually entirely correct. If the whole place was cleared out and it was just me, I'd be one pleased alcoholic. It's not the place I don't like, it's the fact that the place is filled up with other people. I don't know when that happened; when I became such a hateful, anti-social, semi-agoraphobe. I used to not care about that sort of thing. Suddenly, it's all I care about, or at least to a degree. Maybe it all started when I went back to waiting tables. Dealing with the general public in a service industry capacity will certainly deaden parts of your soul. No question about that.
And I know we've joked about me hating everyone here in the past, but it was really just that... jokes. But to have to brought out in the real world... to make it an actual thing and to realize that I actually do feel that way... I don't know, it was kind of rattling.
I mean, don't get me wrong, it doesn't bother me that much. I like who I am for the most part and I tend to view my outlook on the world as more "cranky old man charming" than "loner slowly growing psychotic locked inside his own mind." Still, though.
Whatever, I guess. It was just kind of a weird moment.