Bar

[j4]

Working behind the bar tonight, in some ways it felt like I'd never been away. All the same people, drinking the same drinks, cracking the same jokes. Busy night, but not too busy for a rusty barmaid. I'd forgotten how sticky I felt by the end, though. And how much people comment on bits of my body (somebody else's body, that girl's body). "You shouldn't go sleeveless, love, it doesn't suit you." You know what? I don't give a toss. It's hot behind the bar. If I wore long sleeves, I would sweat like a pig. And it's the same fucking beer even if the woman who serves it to you is ugly, isn't it.

20 quid cash will come in handy though. Particularly since I left my wallet (and, incidentally, house keys) in work. (STUPID.)

Not sure I can cope with parties tomorrow. Or in fact getting out of bed. Except that I have to work at Oxfam tomorrow. Bed after that, I think.

Comments

[oldbloke.livejournal.com]

The time I got 85% acetic acid over my face was interesting to see a certain respect in they eys of the local Hard Men (not very hard, where I used to hang out), and it certainly got you to the bar quickly.

Most of the "what happened to your arms?" may be just a totally straightforward question - a lot of people won't have seen that stuff before, even if they've read about it. They just won't know what it means. Apart from one guy with some wrist scars you're the first person I've actually seen the marks on, myself.

[j4.livejournal.com]

But surely ... I dunno, I just Wouldn't Ask, because if somebody's got that amount of scars it suggests that something pretty bad happened to them and they might not want to talk about that. Doesn't it? If I saw somebody with burns all over their face there's no way I'd say "What happened to your face?" in case the answer was something like "I was in a fire that killed the rest of my family" or "my plane was shot down" or something horrendous like that. I saw a friend with a limb in plaster I'd probably ask "what did you do to your arm/leg?" because the answer is pretty likely to be "I broke it in [some accident]", & therefore unlikely to be seriously traumatic to talk about, but -- oh, I dunno. Maybe it's just me being neurotic.

OTOH I don't really mind people asking so long as they're prepared to take "I'd rather not talk about it" as an answer. But some people just won't. :-(

[nja.livejournal.com]

I just Wouldn't Ask, because if somebody's got that amount of scars it suggests that something pretty bad happened to them and they might not want to talk about that. Doesn't it?

I think you may be mistaken in assuming that men in pubs (who may have been drinking alcoholic beverages) are going to think rationally about this sort of thing. I'm in general a don't-stare don't-make-comments type, because I spend a lot of time around people who are "physically non-standard" in ways which make your arms look fairly normal, and I've got that English reserve and respect for privacy which is often mistaken for coldness and indifference. Plenty of other people are either a lot more outgoing or a lot less inhibited/thoughtful. I think there's also a big difference between injuries which are still causing someone severe difficulties (social or physical), and ones which aren't (or at least aren't obviously to someone unreflective).

[oldbloke.livejournal.com]

Yes.
The thing is, it's not obvious to the uninitiated what caused those marks.

[j4.livejournal.com]

No, the thing is, whatever caused the marks, I just don't see why they ask. I could understand it more if they asked a bloke things like that, because of the macho-scar-story thing, but it seems an odd thing to ask a girl. Unless they're seeing me as "one of the lads", in which case I should probably just invent some stupid story about getting attacked by lions or something.

Use of "uninitiated" in that context makes me skin-crawly. It's not some kind of sekrit clique, not a 'club' I'm proud of belonging to, not something I expect anybody else to know about, or even to want to know about, to care about. It just, y'know, is. Was. Whatever. :-(