Good Morning Guardians of the Asylum,
I understand most everyone reading this support hose will more than likely dismiss this accounting as piffle without truth; your cynicism being justified. However, there are times and situations where anything but the truth will not do. The story I’m about to unfold falls into the ‘sad but true’ file. Yet I believe it serves to enlighten if not provide a clearer picture of our collective tendency to mean well. ‘Dictionary. Com’ defines refuge as:
ref -uge: (ref-yooj)
noun, verb,— uged, uging
1. shelter or protection from danger, trouble, etc.. i.e., to take refuge from a storm
2. a place of shelter, protection, or safety
3. anything to which one has recourse for aid, relief, or escape
As we get along in years forging success, licking the wounds of failure, or putting one’s family safely aboard life’s rich pageant, every man and woman is entitled to his/her place of refuge. This is a special place free from turmoil and stress and is unique to one’s personality. Most times we’re reluctant to share our safe harbor with others simply to protect it from inconsiderate assholes bent on soiling your place of rectitude and clear thinking. These spoilers of good things (and you know who you are) will never see your place as holy ground and always be willing to desecrate it. This place could be a living room, coffee shop, library, or even a bar because they’re individual as we are.
I was feeling pensive last week maybe even a bit depressed and found myself at University’s drinking Vodka instead of wine. It was Friday. This Friday was different as the ‘new’ staff hired to expose flesh debuted by holding up signs next to a busy road gyrating around screaming ‘free shots’ causing some near misses and pandemonium. I was sort of looking forward to it, but after they arrived it all seemed very slutty and was quickly jaded. To aggravate the situation ‘Cush’ found his way over and immediately took the floor. As usual the topics centered on the union, his pot plants, and Aunt Myrna. Prior to his arrival, there was an excellent interchange regarding global warming that was now ‘Cushed’ asunder. He seemed to be more intrusive than ever, and I didn’t have the patience to wait it out. I paid my tab and quietly slipped out the door. I needed refuge.
During the time directly after Dewey’s closed its doors I happened upon a little place not far from where I live. Blonde’s is a little run-down, but the wait staff is friendly, the beer is cold, and they have a very good juke box. For the last three months Blonde’s has been my refuge. However several weeks ago I told one of our own about the place and while uninvited he decided to join me throughout the week ever since. I get along fine with this person, and most times enjoy the quiet company. However, knowing I’d broken the first rule of refuge, it didn’t take long for the chickens to finally come home to roost. This well intentioned associate whom I love dearly, is incapable of rational thought when drinking and called ‘Cush’ to join us in spite of my strong objections.
Before I could close my tab and escape, Cush pushed his way past the wheelchair guy and three blind people trying to have a normal evening and sat next to my well intentioned friend. Neither of them realized what they’d done to my place of refuge! Cush blathered on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on….and on. My good friend couldn’t get enough and was encouraging Cush with backslaps and high fives. But honestly, his stories rarely change or are they even modified to create the least bit of variety! But knowing I’d fucked up and revealed my sanctuary I have only myself to blame. It was very clear a new venue would be necessary.
Decency aside, I hope we can learn from our mistakes. Keep sacred ground sacred.