God's lonely men
I don't have a lot of friends in the town where I live. In the nearly fifteen years that I've lived in Bayonne, I can count the number of people I know in town on one hand (and some of those, it could be argued, I would have been better off not knowing). It's not that I'm anti-social, it's just that most of my friends I either grew up with or met through jobs or other friends. A half-assed effort to meet other people in bars in Bayonne blew up in my face several years ago and I've never looked back (I learned that it's all right to bring friends to a bar in Bayonne, but making friends there is a whole other story).
I don't seem to be alone in my predicament. Two other, middle-aged, single guys who live in my building seem to have found themselves in the same situation. Well, maybe not quite the same. J. works for the sanitation department in the city. I'm pretty sure he's got mental problems (I've never flat out asked him). He's a good guy who, I'm sure, would be willing to help you if you ever needed him in a pinch (although I suspect he probably would draw the line if you asked him to bail you out of jail-- but, then again, so would most people). For obvious reasons, J.'s loneliness probably runs deepest. It's gotten so bad that he's taken to listening to the radio in his car parked on the street at night rather than face the loneliness that must weigh on him more heavily in his apartment. At least on the street there's the chance someone he knows might pass by and he can jump out of his car and have a conversation. He's startled me a number of times by doing this. He also goes out of his way to say "hello" to every woman who passes him on the street, old or young, whether he knows them or not. Obviously, this strategy hasn't panned out for him, but who am I to judge considering my strategy has produced the very same results.
J.D. lives on the first floor of my building. We moved beyond head-nodding to each other as we passed when someone stole his new Sirius car radio (for some reason he left it unattended on the front stoop of our building and someone must have walked off with it). It was then that I became aware of his very severe stuttering problem. I've met and had dealings with other people who have stuttered and it is always awkward. As much as you'd like to help, there's really nothing you can do as they struggle with their words (something I can relate to since I often become tongue-tied in trying to be precise when speaking). To his credit, J.D. doesn't seem shy in a social setting. I often run into him at a restaurant down the block. With a few drinks in him, the stuttering seems to abate and he can be quite gregarious. But even in this relaxed setting the guy can't win. When I noticed a couple bartenders conspiring to pull a prank on him, I got a sense he may not be one of their favorite regulars. And when he informed me that he likes to run his air conditioner even when the temperature is in the 60s (I heard it running one night and couldn't believe it), I understood that he was, like me, in this bachelor thing for the long and lonely haul.
I don't seem to be alone in my predicament. Two other, middle-aged, single guys who live in my building seem to have found themselves in the same situation. Well, maybe not quite the same. J. works for the sanitation department in the city. I'm pretty sure he's got mental problems (I've never flat out asked him). He's a good guy who, I'm sure, would be willing to help you if you ever needed him in a pinch (although I suspect he probably would draw the line if you asked him to bail you out of jail-- but, then again, so would most people). For obvious reasons, J.'s loneliness probably runs deepest. It's gotten so bad that he's taken to listening to the radio in his car parked on the street at night rather than face the loneliness that must weigh on him more heavily in his apartment. At least on the street there's the chance someone he knows might pass by and he can jump out of his car and have a conversation. He's startled me a number of times by doing this. He also goes out of his way to say "hello" to every woman who passes him on the street, old or young, whether he knows them or not. Obviously, this strategy hasn't panned out for him, but who am I to judge considering my strategy has produced the very same results.
J.D. lives on the first floor of my building. We moved beyond head-nodding to each other as we passed when someone stole his new Sirius car radio (for some reason he left it unattended on the front stoop of our building and someone must have walked off with it). It was then that I became aware of his very severe stuttering problem. I've met and had dealings with other people who have stuttered and it is always awkward. As much as you'd like to help, there's really nothing you can do as they struggle with their words (something I can relate to since I often become tongue-tied in trying to be precise when speaking). To his credit, J.D. doesn't seem shy in a social setting. I often run into him at a restaurant down the block. With a few drinks in him, the stuttering seems to abate and he can be quite gregarious. But even in this relaxed setting the guy can't win. When I noticed a couple bartenders conspiring to pull a prank on him, I got a sense he may not be one of their favorite regulars. And when he informed me that he likes to run his air conditioner even when the temperature is in the 60s (I heard it running one night and couldn't believe it), I understood that he was, like me, in this bachelor thing for the long and lonely haul.
posted by BayonneMike at 8:53 AM
1 Comments:
Interesting blog, Mike. I can already relate a little to what you're talking about. I thought when I moved to the DC area I'd be wallowing in new friends (well, not literally), but a couple of bad nights out at the mad and annoying bars here quickly put a stop to those thoughts. Since then it's been steadily downhill.
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