"Forty-two", the barman
says, rolling his eyes so much they almost disappear inside his skull.
"Now for the love of God, ask me something original."
"Huh," I say, a little disappointed
that he didn't appreciate my little reference. Though, he
would not be wrong. This is the bar where you can get answers to all of your
questions. "All right.
Who wins the next World Cup?"
"Argentina", the barman
answers, still drying the glasses. "Look, you want a drink or not?"
Damn, I wish I knew if that's true, I think.
"I'll have a beer."
The barman rolls his eyes again.
"This is not a movie, son. What kind of beer?
"Well, what beer am I going to
have?" I say. Two can play smartass at this game.
The barman puts a Heineken in front of me.
"There," he says.
"Well, there's no way you could
get that one wrong now, is there?" I say, taking a sip.
"Stop asking stupid questions," the barman
replies. "You don't get to be a wise guy if all you do is ask stup –"
"How should I end this story?" I ask,
slamming the bottle against the counter.
"Beg pardon?"
"This story," I say. "I usually outline a bit
before I start, but this one I just started writing."
“Huh…” He eyes
me carefully, then rests the glass
on the sink in front of him and throws the dish towel over his shoulder. "You're going meta already?"
"Got you there, didn't I?"
"I mean, well…" he starts, frowning at me,
"you don't have anything? A general idea, a vague notio –"
"Nada. I'm literally typing as I
go."
"Jesus… Aren't you nervous
nothing will come out of it?"
"Usually I'd be. But this time I
know it'll be something good, cause you're here," I say, spinning my
fidget spinner.
“You hate fidget spinner, dude!” He exclaims.
"Shut up, it's my story," I say.
"So? How do we end this?"
"What? Now? I gotta
answer now?"
I sigh, looking away, then at him.
"Dude! It's right in the title! The Answer Bar! Get your shit together. Give me
something here."
"All right, all right, how
about…" He thinks for a moment, scratching his beard. "You get attacked by
bears."
"Nah. No good. I hate it. Try
again."
"Come on! Bear attack! It's gory,
it's funny. It's got you written all over it!"
I shake my head. "No. Come on.
What else?"
He sighs, scratching his head.
"All right, a demonic squirrel
with a bazooka that –"
"I don’t like
that, too. Next."
The barman's eyes are fixed on me now.
He's taking this very seriously.
"You are carried by eagles out of
Mordor into –"
"No."
"You are the last Horcrux, and Volde
–"
"Nope."
"The Terminator –"
"Nah."
"Matt Damon and
Danny Trejo –"
"Jesus, dude,” I say. "I
gotta tell you, I expected more."
He looks pissed now, the barman. He
looks at me, then down at the floor, then back at me.
"You're out?" I ask, smiling
a confident smile.
Slowly and sadly, he nods, defeated.
"I'm out."
"It's fine", I say, with a
chuckle. "I was lying before. I know how I'm going to end this story."
He looks up at me, teary-eyed and trembling. "You
do?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I shrug. "I was having too much
fun."
The barman sighs, pissed off. He grabs
a glass from the sink and starts wiping again. "Well, do it, then. Go
ahead."
I put out the cigarette on the
counter, down the last of my beer and get up from my stool. "Well," I say,
looking around. "I had a blast here at Answer Bar. Thanks for having
me."
"Whatever", the barman
grunts. "Come on, let's see that big ending you got planned."
I smile. "I'll see you around, I
guess," I say. He
nods, grumpy.
And then I'm attacked by bears.
The barman, he drops the glass and
goes, "YOU FUCKING ASSHO –" but the story is over already.
