One fine fall day, a String is walking down Spruce street.
The string walks this route all the time home from his factory job. See, the String works at Sanchez Aluminum over in Harleysville. He's actually part of the safety team and spends most of his time is the windowed office overseeing the factory floor - keeping an eye on safety for the other workers who work the smelter. Oddly enough Sanchez Aluminum does not have an OSHA representative on site, but the String has not had any major accidents in his entire 15 year tenure as on the Safety Team. This has earned him multiple "Employee of the Month" accolades - each of which gets noted in his Human Resources file. Apparently being a String gives him the ability to lean in ways that gives him extra visibility that other's don't. To be entirely honest, it is probably one of the best employees Sanches Aluminum has ever had. He's been in this role for a while, and really seems to enjoy it. Pay is good, and the benefits are surprisingly good for him and his family.
The String is married to another string (he's Cotton and his wife is a woven Nylon) and they have two kids - both blends, and a Black Labrador puppy. Most people who have 3yo dogs no longer call them puppies, but if you have ever owned a Lab, you know they are puppies until 5 years - at least. Great dogs. Really great temperament. Great with kids. Eat anything they can get in their mouths. Pretty useless as a guard dog. I'm sure if their String-home was broken in to, the dog would just show up with a tennis ball in his mouth, wagging his tail. But, they got the puppy as a member of the family, and not as a guard dog after all. So, it all works out.
Anyway, He's minding his own business - as always - staying on the sidewalk, keeping aware not to bump in to anyone. Given the political climate in Harleysville as of late have been a little strained. Not that it is unsafe to raise kids - but people keep to themselves and everyone is happy. As he rounds the corner and turns off of Spruce on to Connecticut Avenue and heads North, he passes "Raising the Bar". That's the new place opposite of the local hardware store, and next to Phillip's Diner. Raising the Bar has done a nice job of providing both a place for the factory workers to gather after a hard day, and a place to stop by with friends and just talk. It really isn't your typical dive bar and the owner, Mike? (or Marty, or Matty? Matt... maybe?) Honestly I can't remember which, but it is definitely a "M" name. Anyway, Matt has done a great job of keeping the place well lit and he's put a few high top tables near the front. His wife June opted to put in a little kitchen for your standard bar fare. Wings, Nachos, and things of that level. So, June and Matt (It is definitely Matt) have this nice little place and business is pretty good. They have a few sidewalk tables they put out in the Spring and Summer where people can grab a bite to eat and a drink or two. In fact, the String and his family have brought their pup along when it was almost brand new.
So, the String is walking past "Raising the Bar" after turning off Spruce and thinks to himself, "you know, it's been a hard week, I'm going to grab myself a drink and just soak in the world. I deserve it." He decided to sit down on one of the sidewalk tables. Fall has already begun and there were a few leaves on the chair - but he just brushes them off and makes himself comfortable while reading the "On Tap" table card. For whatever reason, he's started to be fond of Hefeweizen / Wheat beers recently. Perhaps it is the cool weather, or maybe just time for a change, but he decided on a nice Widmer Hefe. He sits patiently, looking over the menu card - contemplating the Chicken Nachos or perhaps a plate of fried cheese. I think most of us enjoy the occasional fried cheese - but lets be honest, about halfway in to the second one you realize - you have have just had too much cheese and wish you would have opted for the other choice.
The wind picks up a little, blowing down Connecticut as it does, and the String gets a little chill. Half excited by the onset of full Fall, he decides to go inside. Don't want to catch a cold or anything this early in the Fall. His job has great benefits as I mentioned before, but you don't get to the Supervisor role by spending your time at home sick. So, he heads towards the entrance. On the way in, he sees a sign on the door, that he can just barely read, when the door opens and a man and woman start coming out. He, like any good String would do, steps aside and holds the door for the exiting patrons. The woman starts to say "Thank You", and then quickly breaks off and looks away rather abruptly. The man, steps in front of the woman and glares back at the String. The String, taken back a bit by the exchange lets go of the door and eases back a little. The Man says, rather rudely, "We got it!" and continues to exit "Raising the Bar" and turns right on Connecticut towards Spruce. The String, thrown a little, watches them leave and just assume it was a bad day, or perhaps they were mid-argument. Either way, he was starting to get hungry for those Chicken Nachos. Turning back around, reaching for the handle of the door, which is now almost fully closed, he reads the handwritten paper sign no the door, "No Strings Inside".
"What!??", the String thinks. How could this be? Since when did Harleysville start acting this way. Yea, politic have gotten a little ugly recently, by how is this the String fault? How is this at all related to String-kind? Perhaps it is just a goof, and the sign was placed there by some smart-assed kids. It looks like it was hastily written with a Sharpie on the back of another flyer. He grabs it with his right hand and tears it down as he walks in - crumpling it as he goes.
Raising the Bar is rather crowded for this time of day, but he supposed it is 6pm and people are probably thinking the same thing on their way home from work. A few guys at the door give him a look as he comes in, and the murmuring dulls noticeably. "Hey everyone... how's it going?" says the String. Almost everyone turns away. Honestly the String has never felt this kind of response... ever. He sees June behind the counter pulling a beer for a patron, and he starts to head over to the counter. A few others part and give him some room as he approaches and he says, "Hey, can I get an order of Chicken Nachos and a Heff, please? I was going to sit out on your lovely sidewalk tables, but the night is starting to chill a little and figured I'd just enjoy it in here." As always, he does this with a kind smile. June won't make eye contact, and seems to be rather nervous. Matt comes over, and taps her on the shoulder gently and takes the beer mug from her hands to finish the pour. June seems to be a little misty-eyed and getting a red in the face as she walks towards the other end of the counter.
"Hey man, you can wait outside if you want, but we can't have you in here.", says Matt.
Taken back a bit, the String says "What? I can't be in here? I'm just looking for beer and some nachos. What's going on?".
Matt says, this time, with a little more force in his voice, "Look, we put the sign up - we don't want to make anybody uncomfortable in here - head on out, and I'll be there in a few minutes, ok Bud?"
Now the String is getting a little agitated - he's heard about this kind of thing, but never expected to have to deal with it in Harleysville... especially at Raising the Bar. Hell, he and his family been here a few months ago and they were treated fine. Granted, he's never been inside - but who cares - it's a free country right? "Matt, I'm not sure what you are talking about here... but I really don't like how I'm being treated here. I'm not really in the mood to argue with anybody... I just want a beer and and a bite. Is that going to be a problem?!"
"Listen, String, this doesn't have to be a big deal. Just sit outside and I'll be out in a bit." Matt says in a very condescending tone, "Just take it easy and we will get to you when we can."
"No, you know what, I don't think I will. I'm going to go over to Phillip's and get something there. I'm not sure what's happening here, but I really don't appreciate they way I'm being treated!", says the String.
"Hit the bricks, String", from some un-named patron far down at the other end of the bar. The String looks over quickly to see who would dare say such an offensive thing, but the lights are low and it is hard to see with the "Miller High Life" neon sign changing the colors a bit - it is too hard to tell.
"Whatever, I'm out.", barks the String as he turns to the door and walks out. Halfway out he realizes he still holding the crumpled up paper sign, and turns that throws it at the floor near the counter in disgust. "This is your garbage!", and he closes the door a little harder than needed.
Standing on the sidewalk the String has adrenaline pumping through his body as a result of the tensions. Taking a breath, trying to calm down a little as he decides wha to do next. He's lost his appetite, and is in no mood to enjoy the cool Fall nigh, he decided to head home. All the way down Connecticut he's replaying the conversation in his head. Of course now he's got ton's of things to say. Retorts are popping up left and right. "You take it easy!" and "I'll hit you with a brick, jerk!". The String walks the rest of the way home - by the time he makes it to his street, he's feeling better. Cool Fall air does relax him, and when he sees his pup wagging his tail in the front window anticipating his arrival - he has pretty much pushed that mess out of his mind.
A few weeks later, on a surprisingly and unseasonably warm day, the String finds himself walking past "Raising the Bar" again after a really hard day and decides to give it another go. Tough days call for a cool glass of beer, right? Let bye-gones be bye-gones, and he crosses Connecticut and reaches for the door handle. He makes note that there are no rude and offensive signs on the door, and pops right in. This time, he proudly walks up to the bar and says to Matt, who is tending this end, while June is sitting on a stool at the other end chatting away with friends.
"Gimme a pint of your finest, sir.", says the String in a comically British accent. Why not start the evening out with a bit of humor, right?
Matt glances up from his work and stares directly into the String's eyes and says "Listen... STRING... I told you once, don't come in here. We don't want you in here."
"Are you kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you, man? I thought you were just having a bad time last week... but now, you are acting like a real ass!" responds the String. He can feel himself turning red with anger. 0-60, but what are you supposed to do when confronted with this kind of thing.
"I'm not going to tell you again... No String!", barks Matt. Making a quarter turn to point to a blue metal sign with "NO STRING" printed in bold, white lettering 4 inches high - mounted above the cash register. "No string, see, N. O. S. T. R. I. N. G. Or can't you Strings read?" responds, Matt in an incredibly rude tone.
"What the hell is wrong with you Dude? This is such a dick move! I don't understand what the hell is going on here!" says the String, almost at full boil.
"I really don't care what you understand or don't understand, STRING! This is a private establishment, and I can decide who or what I will allow in to my place of business. If I don't want Strings in here, the there are no Strings allowed in here. So take your stringy-ass out of my place of business and don't come back again. Show up again, and I'm calling the cops! We clear?" Matt yells. By this time, Matt is leaning over the bar jabbing his finger into the String in a really aggressive way.
"Screw this, screw you, and everyone in here. This is offensive an I might just call the ACLU and file a complaint! Doesn't look so clean in here either, maybe a call to the Health Department, huh? How about that?! Why don't I get the Health Inspector down here and have them do little surprise inspection on this rat-hole of a bar? Up to code?", responds the String. Grasping at something to threaten with. Truth is, this place is pretty nice and it is an idle thread, but Matt doesn't have to know that. The String is so pissed, anything to get back at this place that is within his reach - he's going to do it. "I don't want a beer, I don't even want to be here!", screams the String.
The String turns, and swipes his arm across the counter top, pushing a bowl of peanuts to the floor, making a mess.
"To hell with you, and your stupid bar!", yells the String. "I hope everyone in here gets sick from your stupid peanuts!"
One more sweep across the counter top and the String pushes over the bar set containing Maraschino cherries, sliced lemons, limes and straws for making drinks. The juices spill all over the counter top and on to the floor. Red juice dribbles down the bar on to some patrons laps causing people to stand up and step back. Clearly this has escalated too far, and the String recognizes that he's acted really poorly and made a bad situation worse than it needed to be. He grabs a messy handful of bar napkins and stops the red juice stream from getting everywhere.
"STOP! Leave it be! Just get out!", yells June who is now along side of Matt. "Just leave! We don't want your kind in here!".
"Fine!", retorts the String, throwing the sticky, messy handful of napkins into Matt's chest, leaving a pink, sticky mess on his white shirt. He turns and hustles out of the bar. Clearly he's gone over the line, and getting out now would be the best course of action. He slams in to the door with his hip, sending the door all the way open until the metal automatic door closing arm catches it right before it slams in to the back wall. The door hits with such force, the String is surprised (and actually quite thankful) that it didn't shatter. He turns and just heads out on to the street. He's unable to really make out the yelling of insults from the bar as the door slowly closes - but it is clearly more rude comments.
Both hurt and angry, the String turns towards home and begins his walk. Two doors down the String passed an old, abandoned store front, catches his own reflection in the window, and stops in his tracks. An idea races into his mind and he gets an idea.
"I'm not going to get run our of a bar like that... what would my family think of me if I just turned tail and ran! I'm better than that. And I'm going to have myself a god-damned beer - who cares what those idiots think!", says the String. Realizing that he's talking to his own reflection, he blushes a little, but feels a sense of accomplishment and determination and the idea takes hold.
The string takes off his light Jacket, folds it in thirds, and places it on the top step to the abandoned store's entrance area. Then, he takes off his necktie, and dress shirt - folding them gently just as he did with his jacket. He places his work bag on top of the pile and faces the semi-reflective store window.
Seeing his own reflection, he stretches and nimbly bends himself down and and around. Bending him self in a 360º loop at the middle. Then, ever so nimbly he works his head into the loop and twists himself around and tries to straighten himself. A little giggle passes the String's lips and his plan begins to take shape.
Then, rather awkwardly, the String reaches into his right front pocket and takes out a pocket knife. One that he uses primarily as a money clip that he got from his kids the previous Father's day. You may be familiar with the style, a small Swiss Army knife with a pair of (poor) folding scissors, a nail file, and a small pen-knife blade all with a metal clip on one side. On the reverse side, his family etched a nice "We love you, Dad!". Seeing the engraved statement makes him feel a little better. Opening the pen knife's blade, he proceeds to repeatedly poke the blade through the top of his head, just above the forehead and starts shredding the top end of his String head. Over and over he works apart the tightly woven threads, loosening them substantially. Each time he frees up 4-6 inches of threads they flop back down into his eyes. Small pieces fall to the ground around his feet as he continues. Gusts of cool Fall breeze scatter these loose threads with the leaves that are gently blowing by.
Once complete, he folds back his pen knife / money clip and walks over to his work bag. Opening the leather strip and buckle, he pulls back the flap and places the money clip into the front right pouch along with his work ID and a few old and no longer sticky Post-It notes. Then, digging though layers old manilla folders, loose papers and printed safety regulations, the String finds his old black plastic comb. It is missing a few teeth on one side, but is more or less completely adequate for his intended purpose. Of course, he has to clean off some grime and gunk that has accumulated over the years. Thinking to himself that he really needs to clean out this bag at some point.
Then, in a move which reminds him of the old Vidal Sassoon commercials he saw as a kid, he proceeds to comb his now-loose threads. This way, and that. Frontwards and backwards. Over and over. Teasing his threads until it is pretty much a tangled up mess. Absent mindedly he tosses the comb back in to the large pouch of his work bag. Using his left foot, he kicks the flap closed, and then stands in front of the shop window to admire his work. Then, he turns back towards the bar and starts to walk. Playing the upcoming situation over and over in his head, he reached down and grabs his pair of lightly scratched mirrored sunglasses he keeps in the outer pocket of his bag, and places them on the bridge of his nose. They are a little bent and more that a little scratched than he'd like - but what could he expect - they are kept loose in a work bag. Not really how you treat glasses you want to keep nice and sharp looking.
He then makes a direct path to the bar. Wearing the sunglasses may have been a mistake given the fact that it was already getting dark out, but he decides to keep them on to help with his plan. Then, taking a few seconds to center himself with a few deep breaths, the String, reaches up with his right hand, and yanks open the door and proudly walks in. Walking deliberately to stand in exactly where he stood during the previous confrontation. Standing there, twisted around, strands at the top of his head gently wafting back and forth under the large ceiling fan above him. His mirrored sunglasses reflecting the ceiling lights just over head.
Every single patron stops talking, and heads turn to face the String.
Matt, who was facing the bottles on the back wall turns around with a look of bewilderment, and says, "Uh, hey Mac... weren't you just here? Didn't I tell you that we don't serve String in this bar?"
"Nope...", says the String knowingly lying to the bartender.
"I'm pretty sure that was you. You are definitely a String." interrupts, June, who is now standing directly next to her husband, Matt. "You sure you're not a String?"
"Nope...", says the String. "...frayed knot".
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