What is this?

Kathy’s eyes popped open while her lips were pressed so tightly together they nearly made a straight line across her face.

“What is this in my mouth?”, she mumbled from behind clenched teeth.

“Pickled Octopus.”, I said beaming at her clear surprise.

“Why did you put Octopus in my mouth?”, she said sounding like a person that had stubbed their toe while chewing on a mouth full of marbles.

“Isn’t it good?” I asked hopefully. “I knew you wouldn’t try it if I just offered it to you. So I said to close your eyes and trust me. I thought you would like it. It tastes like sardines.”

I watched as she choked down her mouthful of Octopus. Gasping for breath she said, “I hate sardines”

“Oh!” I said. “You never told me.”

Earlier that day while working pouring drinks at a local gin mill. I was new to the bartender trade. I was working under the table because I had been laid off from my regular job and a friend gave me the job until I could get back on my feet. I, however, was not skilled enough for prime time so was relegated to slack hours with little traffic. The demands of these hours were usually simple and there was little pressure. It paid little but was better than nothing. I usually did not have to deal with wild drunks or fistfights which usually happened at the end of the day.

Most of the time, I had one or two customers who had simple tastes, beer or uncomplicated mixed drinks.

So as an unemployed psychologist, I was nearly in my element. I could have conversations to my heart’s content while stocking the cooler, cleaning up or doing the other menial but necessary slack-time jobs.

Everyone that came into the bar was interesting in some way. Each of us is the center of our own universe. Even college had not beaten my basic curiosity about humanity out of me. The bar, once I had choked down the crow I had to eat to go to work there, provided a new setting to study the human condition. Life in the raw, so
to speak.

During my first few days, my friend walked me through my duties and demonstrated any skills I would require. The day shift was very slow, but even so, I could see that a true bartender had to possess several skills besides just pouring drinks. He or she would have to be a good listener, an entertainer, a referee, an armchair therapist, and even a policeman at times. Several of those skills were not required of me because the place was just not that busy during my time at work. But at the end of my shift, I could see it starting.

After about a week, I was allowed to fly solo. I was a little nervous, but so far there had been no major events so I thought, bring it on. With all my education, how could this job be beyond me? I went about my duties and waited for my first customer.

At about 8:30 Am the door opened and a small but muscular Hispanic man strutted in. He walked up to the bar and looking directly into my eyes, pushed a 10 dollar bill towards me, and ordered a draft beer with a tequila chaser. He was middle-aged, mostly gone gray, and looked as hard as nails.

As I set his drinks in front of him he assessed me with his brown almost black eyes and said, “You’re new here. What is your name? I like to know who I am drinking with.”

I looked him right back in the eye and said, “My name is Victor or Vic if you like. What’s your name?”

He replied, “I am Angel” as he held out his hand across the bar toward me.

As I took his hand, I noticed a bullet on a gold chain around his neck.

“Pleased to meet you, Angel,” I said as I thought - I have a strong feeling that Angel is not a man to be trifled with.

Angel knocked back the shot and took a long pull on the beer.

He pushed the shot glass toward me and said, “Hit me again, it has been that kind of night at the School.”

The ‘School’ was a reference to the State School at Dudley, an old institution for mentally challenged people.

I filled the shot glass, took the ten, and gave him his change.

“I used to have connections to the state school, even though I never worked there. I’d be interested to hear what it is like there - if you want to talk about it.”, I told him.

He took another long look at me and said, “I work in the trenches with the folks. The people I work with are low-functioning and can be very violent. Most of the time I take care of their personal needs - you know personal hygiene, dressing, stuff like that what they call ADL’s.”

“Sounds like hard work and dealing with other people’s hygiene - well, it doesn’t seem like a good time,” I said.

“It’s not so bad.” he went on. “You get used to it. It’s when the fools who think they run the place play games with the folk’s meds that the crap hits the fan.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

Angel took a long drink of his beer, shrugged and said, “They say it is the regs., that every so often the folks must be taken off all drugs. It is called a drug holiday but trust me it is no holiday, not for them or, us that takes care of them. I feel bad for them, they go out of their minds and have to be tied up or they will hurt themselves or us.”

” Was today one of those times?” I asked as I filled Angel’s shot glass.

“No.”, he said. “But it was a day for a meeting to set a time for a ‘holiday’ for one of my folks and after all the years I have been there, I should have known better, but I had my say before I left today about what I thought of it. I told the shrink that I thought he was the crazy one.”

“So, you think you’re going to be in trouble when you go in tomorrow?” I asked.

Angel gave a short laugh and said, “Well, not for the first time. But this shrink and I, we don’t like each other much to start with and now he has me in a tight spot out of my own mouth.”

I took Angel’s empty beer glass and gave it a slight shake in front of him - he nodded and I filled it.

“Are you worried about getting fired?” I asked.

Angel shook his head and said, “Short of killing someone or stealing state money it is nearly impossible to fire someone like me with many years’ service and the union behind me. But this shrink will make sure I get the worst assignments and will ride me like a pony every chance he gets. It is not going to be fun for a while. But at least I had my say.”

“It might have been better to just go about your business - know the shrink was a fool and not have the grief to put up with.”, I offered.

Angel looked at me and said, “Sometimes a man must stand up and say what he believes is right even if it causes him trouble - otherwise, he is not a man.”

I nodded and said, “I have been to that place when I was in the Navy. I get what you are saying.”

We looked at each other for a moment and then Angel said, “I believe you that you do understand. Do you have any Spanish blood?”
“
No”, I said, “I don’t think so.”
“
Well,”, Angel said, “Have you ever heard the word Macho?”

“Yes, I have heard it used to say that a person was acting unreasonably tough.” I said.

Angel shook his head and in a soft but strong voice said, “Macho in Espanish means manly - to behave as a man should no matter what. It is not about reasonable it is about doing what you should do as a man.”

“I see. These days with the roles for men and women changing, doing what a man feels he should do is not always something society seems to want.”, I wondered out loud.

Angel looked sad and holding his glass up said, “Then let’s drink to dinosaurs because real men may be on the same road as they have traveled. I, for one, would rather be on that road than walk with lowered eyes for my whole life.”

We sat in silence for a few moments and then Angel said, “Tell me have you ever eaten octopus?”

“What?”, I said, still mourning the death of real men everywhere.

Angel continued, “It must have been a brave man who first ate an octopus - they are not animal that looks good to eat.”

“No,” I said, still wondering what he was trying to say.

“But,” Angel said, “They are delicious - especially in a garlic and tomato sauce.”
“
Yes”, I said, “that does sound kind of good.” But I was thinking - not so much.

“Well”, said Angel, “It is very lucky for you that out in my truck, I have a can of just such octopus. I’ll go get it and we shall celebrate real men everywhere by eating it.

What do you say?”

What could I say? I said, “Sounds great to me - let’s have the octopus, my friend!”

Angel was back from his truck in a flash and opened the can with a practiced flourish. A spicy aroma wafted to my nose, and there in the can swimming in the tomato sauce was chunks of what were clearly octopus tentacles suckers and all.

Angle beamed as he held the can toward me and said, “You first, my friend enjoy”.

I speared a piece with a fork and popped it in my mouth before I could think about it.

But the surprise was that this octopus tasted wonderful. Spicy and salty -like the ocean - it was great!

Angel was delighted that I liked it and he had another beer - on me - and we ate more of the octopus.

This small gesture meant a lot to me. For some reason, I felt manlier than before our little feast, and being a bartender was for that moment a great profession.

As Angel left, he gave me the rest of the can of octopus and said he would see me again soon, I knew that I must share this great discovery with my best friend and

could not wait to get home to do so.