vibration - Russ Bedord

While contemplating the light refracting through the ice cubes at the bottom of my glass, a comely young lady (I discovered later) sat next. “Pour another,” I said to the barkeep.

In a dutiful manner he did, looking at me with fake enthusiasm, expecting me to say something, as most drinkers did. I did not. He looked relieved and sought boredom somewhere else.

“Hi,” she said to me. Surprised, I turned to look at her, and discovered then she was comely. 

“Hi, yourself.” I said, irritated. “I'm used to drinking alone.”

“I could see that, but I also see that you have a good vibration.”

“A good what!”

“Vibration. Vibration is everything—good vibes, bad vibes—all kinds of vibe. Vibe is  short for vibrations.”

“So my vibe is good, but don't you think you're a little young for me?”

“It wasn't that kind of vibe. It was like a lonely vibe, that you needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh,” I said, somewhat disappointed. I thought that if I were sending out any kind of 'vibe',' it would be more likely what I felt than what she thought. She apparently picked up something other than desire for a pick-up.

“Not that I'm against that kind of vibe,” she said. “That's what I come here for—but that's not what you need.”

Time for sarcasm. “And what do I need?.”

“Talk.”

“So talk.”

She hesitated briefly, then looked around. “Look at the people in here,” she said. “They all come here for different reasons, and each sends out different vibrations. It's like when you talk to someone because you know what's on their mind. If  you're aware of vibrations, you don't have to talk, just feel and observe.”

I picked one. “That man in the gray suit over there.”

She stared for a moment, then said. ”Poor, poor me vibe. “

“You can tell just by looking?”

 

“From feeling. From feeling, Then look to see if something supports the vibe you sense.”

“How so?”

“Look at him hunched over his drink like it was his alone. Probably a recent divorcee, or  had a falling out with his significant other. And it's all their fault—not his, of course, Otherwise there goes the reason for feeling sorry for himself. And he nurses the drink like an old grudge. Don't dare mess with his drink, like you couldn't mess with an old grudge. Right or wrong, who knows, because no one ever admits wrong. The hell with him.”

A well-built, well-dressed man approached the other side of her and said “Hello.” I quickly turned my attention away and focused on other bar attendees, hoping to test her 'vibration hypothesis.' A young couple looked like they were having a good time but they 'vibed”  insincerity. Maybe that was it! They thought they should because beer and liquor ads showed happiness if you just imbibed! The way they flaunted their Budweisers suggested I wasn't far wrong.

I hadn't heard more than a few mumbles from the young lady next to me and her male companion, and was surprised to see him stand up, erect as possible, and walk off without a backward look. To joke, I said: “Not a good vibe?”

“The worst,” she said, 'the worst. One of those dudes who acts like he's God's gift to women. The vibe he sends is: “I'm a user, you're a loser, so why don't we hook up.”

“I thought hook up was what you were looking for?”

“I am, but with a real person, not with a loser like that—who charms, talks nice, looks nice, and pretends to like you but really hates women. The purpose is to use, even humiliate, to justify a lousy attitude. Don't worry, he'll hook up with a loser carrying the same vibe. They'll be satisfied for a moment, at least.”

“You picked all that up from a vibe?”

“Sad to say, but from experience first. I wasn't the first person to have a rosy view of human nature. Experience taught me to trust the vibe—if it don't feel right, it ain't right.”

“What about that young man standing next to the bar over there”

She stared silently for a few moments. “He doesn't belong here.”

“What! He's here, with a firm hold on that beer bottle!”

“Yeah, but the vibe he's sending says; ‘I don't belong, I'm here because I think I'm supposed to; I look like I'm effusively enjoying myself, but I'm not.’ My guess is that he is from a family where drink had a prominent role to play, but in his life, it does not. Yet, his stance says here I am, look at me, I'm being one of the good guys, am I not? Yet still sipping really slowly, which tells the tale.”

I took a long, good hard look at the young man. Her analysis seemed correct, and I turned to deliver a compliment, but she had left only a hand-written note that said: Nice talking to you. I spotted her across the bar, sitting next to a lone gentleman. The vibe I got from him was non-threatening. 

I got up to approach and say something to her but decided to leave, feeling some satisfaction and a little jealousy.

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