Piano Man
A man (or, perhaps, the man) walked up to the dark brown door of the soon-to-be-again
bar. The FOR SALE sign still sat in the inside of the corner of the tall, curtain-less window.
Before opening the door, the man looked at the sign and contrasted the red color of the sign
with his light blue wool suit. It was definitely daring for the man to wear a wool suit in the
summer, as a seersucker would have been much more appropriate for such a humid, cloudless
day.
Upon looking back at the door, before he could turn the knob, it twisted on its own in his
hand, opened out toward him, and caused him to take a step back, his left Florsheim shoe
almost, almost getting scuffed.
“John, you’re here,” said the man who opened the door. His hazel eyes shone in the summer light. “I saw you through the window. Did you see me?”
“Albert. I’m here,” replied John, now feeling the heat insulating in his suit. “No, I didn’t
see you. I was focused on the sign in the window. Why is it still up?”
Albert stepped out and poked his head around the foyer to see the sign from the
outside. “Oh,” he said, “I guess I was waiting for you to take it down. You being the owner and
all.”
“No, my boy,” John laughed, “you bought it from me. You own it!”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Is the AC hooked up inside? I’m sweltering.”
“No, sorry, it isn’t. You sold it to me broken.”
“Ah, that’s right,” John remembered.
“Well, come inside. It’s a bit better in here. Is that a wool suit?”
“It is.”
“Very hot. You should have gone with a seersucker today.”
“I know.”
The two men descended the short distance of stairs down into the building. At the
bottom it opened up to a wide and deep, but less-than-tall ceilinged building. It was dark, with
only three lights on the far wall lighting up the place. None of the ceiling lights were on, and
John knew why.
“Still working on electrical,” Albert said, and stopped at the long bar that stretched from
the far right of the back wall toward the stairs.
“I know. It’ll get there.”
“Yeah.”
The dimly lit room depressed John, as he had seen it in its heyday—in its glory—back
when he owned and operated the bar. Back before people stopped visiting this side of town
and instead went to Joy’s Bar and Karaoke on the north side of town. Even though his
customers had left him, when John visited Joy’s Bar and Karaoke, he did not see any of his
customers (well, he saw one, but it was a homeless dude who used to hang out in front of his
place. Understandably, he was also hanging out outside of Joy’s, seemingly strung out of his
gourd). What he did see baffled him: the women were strikingly beautiful, playfully young, and
irrationally drunk. He saw the men: tall, broad, and fit.
Where were these patrons in his establishment? Sure, Joy’s was well-lit, loud but not
too loud, and had fair prices on strong drinks, but his place had a grandstand piano that
sometimes got played. And every single Saturday Loren came in to play “Piano Man” at
9:00pm sharp, and everyone in the bar would join in. Some of the regulars even took on the
roles from the song: Art liked to pretend to be Paul the real estate novelist even though he
knew jack shit about real estate or novels, and the manager let Kayla pretend to be the
manager, and, naturally, John was the bartender most Saturday nights, so he didn’t even have
to pretend. How could Joy’s Bar and Karaoke beat that?
“What do you plan to do with the place?” John asked. He inhaled the old familiar scent
of the place. It smelled more dusty now—a little too old now.
“A little paint, some wires, maybe new wood on the booths. Reopen and hope it does
well,” Albert said, scanning the wide and deep room.
“This side of town is not what is used to be. Everyone who still visits this area is old.
Some of them even angry because of the lives they lived.”
“Well,” Albert thought, “they’ll be welcome here. They can sit right at the bar and talk
with me. Maybe I’ll have someone play ‘Piano Man’ on that piano Saturday nights.” He laughed
and looked at John. John did not return the lightness.
“Don’t do that,” John mumbled.
“Why not?”
“I did that.”
“Oh.”
“It was nice for a while. Then people got tired of it. But the people who are stuck in their
routines got stuck in that routine, and looked forward to it, so I was stuck doing it, even though
many did not enjoy it anymore. Maybe that’s what drove them away.”
Albert nodded slowly. “I think the north side drove them away.”
“I agree. The revitalization there really left us in the dust.”
“Mmm,” Albert hummed.
“How old are you again?” John asked, putting his hand on Albert’s back.
“Thirty-two.”
“I see. To be thirty-two again.” John walked behind the bar and stood toward the end and ran
his hands over the somewhat dusty surface.
“And you, John?”
“Fifty-six.”
“Ah.”
The two men stood in silence, both looking down toward the bar. The air in the building
was still, and John felt a drop of sweat run down the back of his neck. Even in his fifties his
body still ran too hot for his liking. Still, his light blue wool suit made him feel good, so
choosing the suit to wear for such a warm day was still not regrettable.
“I have a lot of regrets from life, Albert,” John began, tugging on his jacket sleeves, “but
owning this bar is not one of them. I hope it won’t be for you.”
“I hope so too,” Albert said, turning around to look at the booths behind him.
“Well, I just wanted to check in. Make sure you weren’t looking to back out of the
purchase. Grace periods and all that.”
“No, no,” Albert said, “I’m going to stick with her.” He looked at the piano. “Thank you
again for including the piano.”
“Of course,” John said. “Just don’t have anyone play ‘Piano Man.’ That bitch Joy will
get more customers.”
“Who’s Joy?”
“No one. No one.” John wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. He cleared
his throat while straightening his tie. “Well, I guess I’ll be off then. Remember: I know some
good guys who can help you fix up some of the stuff in here.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need some extra help.”
“Good.”
The two men, one being the owner of the bar they were standing in, and the other being
the previous owner of the bar that was not able to fair certain weathers, shook hands, and
Albert followed John to the top of the stairs. They shook hands once again, and John opened
the door and walked out.
Albert tiptoed down the stairs and waffled over to the piano, running his fingers across
the back of barstools as he went along. Sitting down, he lifted back the cover over the keys,
and began playing “Piano Man.”
bar. The FOR SALE sign still sat in the inside of the corner of the tall, curtain-less window.
Before opening the door, the man looked at the sign and contrasted the red color of the sign
with his light blue wool suit. It was definitely daring for the man to wear a wool suit in the
summer, as a seersucker would have been much more appropriate for such a humid, cloudless
day.
Upon looking back at the door, before he could turn the knob, it twisted on its own in his
hand, opened out toward him, and caused him to take a step back, his left Florsheim shoe
almost, almost getting scuffed.
“John, you’re here,” said the man who opened the door. His hazel eyes shone in the summer light. “I saw you through the window. Did you see me?”
“Albert. I’m here,” replied John, now feeling the heat insulating in his suit. “No, I didn’t
see you. I was focused on the sign in the window. Why is it still up?”
Albert stepped out and poked his head around the foyer to see the sign from the
outside. “Oh,” he said, “I guess I was waiting for you to take it down. You being the owner and
all.”
“No, my boy,” John laughed, “you bought it from me. You own it!”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Is the AC hooked up inside? I’m sweltering.”
“No, sorry, it isn’t. You sold it to me broken.”
“Ah, that’s right,” John remembered.
“Well, come inside. It’s a bit better in here. Is that a wool suit?”
“It is.”
“Very hot. You should have gone with a seersucker today.”
“I know.”
The two men descended the short distance of stairs down into the building. At the
bottom it opened up to a wide and deep, but less-than-tall ceilinged building. It was dark, with
only three lights on the far wall lighting up the place. None of the ceiling lights were on, and
John knew why.
“Still working on electrical,” Albert said, and stopped at the long bar that stretched from
the far right of the back wall toward the stairs.
“I know. It’ll get there.”
“Yeah.”
The dimly lit room depressed John, as he had seen it in its heyday—in its glory—back
when he owned and operated the bar. Back before people stopped visiting this side of town
and instead went to Joy’s Bar and Karaoke on the north side of town. Even though his
customers had left him, when John visited Joy’s Bar and Karaoke, he did not see any of his
customers (well, he saw one, but it was a homeless dude who used to hang out in front of his
place. Understandably, he was also hanging out outside of Joy’s, seemingly strung out of his
gourd). What he did see baffled him: the women were strikingly beautiful, playfully young, and
irrationally drunk. He saw the men: tall, broad, and fit.
Where were these patrons in his establishment? Sure, Joy’s was well-lit, loud but not
too loud, and had fair prices on strong drinks, but his place had a grandstand piano that
sometimes got played. And every single Saturday Loren came in to play “Piano Man” at
9:00pm sharp, and everyone in the bar would join in. Some of the regulars even took on the
roles from the song: Art liked to pretend to be Paul the real estate novelist even though he
knew jack shit about real estate or novels, and the manager let Kayla pretend to be the
manager, and, naturally, John was the bartender most Saturday nights, so he didn’t even have
to pretend. How could Joy’s Bar and Karaoke beat that?
“What do you plan to do with the place?” John asked. He inhaled the old familiar scent
of the place. It smelled more dusty now—a little too old now.
“A little paint, some wires, maybe new wood on the booths. Reopen and hope it does
well,” Albert said, scanning the wide and deep room.
“This side of town is not what is used to be. Everyone who still visits this area is old.
Some of them even angry because of the lives they lived.”
“Well,” Albert thought, “they’ll be welcome here. They can sit right at the bar and talk
with me. Maybe I’ll have someone play ‘Piano Man’ on that piano Saturday nights.” He laughed
and looked at John. John did not return the lightness.
“Don’t do that,” John mumbled.
“Why not?”
“I did that.”
“Oh.”
“It was nice for a while. Then people got tired of it. But the people who are stuck in their
routines got stuck in that routine, and looked forward to it, so I was stuck doing it, even though
many did not enjoy it anymore. Maybe that’s what drove them away.”
Albert nodded slowly. “I think the north side drove them away.”
“I agree. The revitalization there really left us in the dust.”
“Mmm,” Albert hummed.
“How old are you again?” John asked, putting his hand on Albert’s back.
“Thirty-two.”
“I see. To be thirty-two again.” John walked behind the bar and stood toward the end and ran
his hands over the somewhat dusty surface.
“And you, John?”
“Fifty-six.”
“Ah.”
The two men stood in silence, both looking down toward the bar. The air in the building
was still, and John felt a drop of sweat run down the back of his neck. Even in his fifties his
body still ran too hot for his liking. Still, his light blue wool suit made him feel good, so
choosing the suit to wear for such a warm day was still not regrettable.
“I have a lot of regrets from life, Albert,” John began, tugging on his jacket sleeves, “but
owning this bar is not one of them. I hope it won’t be for you.”
“I hope so too,” Albert said, turning around to look at the booths behind him.
“Well, I just wanted to check in. Make sure you weren’t looking to back out of the
purchase. Grace periods and all that.”
“No, no,” Albert said, “I’m going to stick with her.” He looked at the piano. “Thank you
again for including the piano.”
“Of course,” John said. “Just don’t have anyone play ‘Piano Man.’ That bitch Joy will
get more customers.”
“Who’s Joy?”
“No one. No one.” John wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. He cleared
his throat while straightening his tie. “Well, I guess I’ll be off then. Remember: I know some
good guys who can help you fix up some of the stuff in here.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need some extra help.”
“Good.”
The two men, one being the owner of the bar they were standing in, and the other being
the previous owner of the bar that was not able to fair certain weathers, shook hands, and
Albert followed John to the top of the stairs. They shook hands once again, and John opened
the door and walked out.
Albert tiptoed down the stairs and waffled over to the piano, running his fingers across
the back of barstools as he went along. Sitting down, he lifted back the cover over the keys,
and began playing “Piano Man.”
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