Inkless Archives: Scattered Files on The Floor

exhibit s: "narc-filled attention"

"Want every eyes on you, huh?" The bartender asked, as I sat on one of the seats on the counter. "An attention seeker. Classic."

"There's nothing wrong with being an attention seeker," I raised my glass at him, as he served other costumers with different drinks, each of them having their own little quirks. "I just think of people like me as someone who needs others to feel better about ourselves."

"But you hate being corrected?" He retorted, as he puts the bottles back on their respective shelves. "Don't you, big man? Don't you?"

"Everyone hates being corrected," I rolled my eyes, my vision landing on a drunk man in the middle of the dance floor. "Look at that drunk one. If you walk to him and say, 'You suck at dancing, should I teach you how?' your risk of getting punch just escalates."

"But at least, he's getting attention, right?" He chuckled, as he sat on the couch countertop. "Admit it, he's getting attention. He got yours. Even if people aren't appealing, or such, they still find a way to get attention."

"I don't care," I mumbled, as I took another shot of my drink. "He's weird, he's drunk, and he's probably about to puke with all that dancing."

And the drunk man did.

"You don't understand, mate," He chuckled yet again, which only annoys me more. "Any attention is good attention, whether it's from good or bad things."

"Because you're still going to be relevant with them?" I scoffed, raising my glass again for another shot. "Sounds like someone who had a job in a scandalous celebrity's PR."

"You're a good guesser," He scoffed back, as he left the countertop to fetch a whole bottle. "I just wanted to break his neck everytime he does something messy. It's like, a social janitor."

"There's nothing wrong with being a janitor either," I replied, as I drank my third shot for tonight. "You're just doing your share of work, and you're working hard for it."

"Mate, I think you won't like to dispose cheating evidences," he sarcastically laughed. "Both he and his wife are artist, so nothing could ever fuck up in camera."

"Even I would break a womaniser's neck," I muttered, my teeth slightly gritting. "Women deserve respect, and men... I mean, everyone deserves respect, but..." I made a mock puking sound. "Definitely not people who cheats on their other half."

He abruptly patted my back. "Chill, mate. It's not you in the situation," he murmured. "But, anyway, when I got the chance to resign, I quickly did. I don't need no fifty grand for that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, putting my empty shotglass at the tabletop. "What 'chance' did you get?"

He abruptly laughed, holding his stomach. "He was caught touching himself to a celebrity's poster," he laughed even harder. "Wife was so mad they got a divorce within twelve hours."

"What?!" I exclaimed. How on earth will I process this information? "Bro was desperate to get some feels." I murmured, using one of those 'modern' phrases that came from memes. Wait, how do you pronounce that word again?

"I know, mate, I know," he slowly calmed down from his laughter. "His wife thought that he's crazy as hell. She still don't know about his other women until now!"

I scoffed. "How lucky." I thought.

"But, kidding aside," he interrupted my thoughts. How annoying. "I want to earn you that attention is addictive... and dangerous. Like everything, get some in moderation. And by that, I ain't talking about the bar just in front of this place."

"Who names their place 'Drink in Moderation Bar'?" I asked, slightly chuckling.

"Apparently, they wanted to promote some habits," he quickly responded. "Well, if they can't handle drunk people in bars, they should've carried signs and protested everywhere instead."

"But, seriously, I'm giving you a piece of wisdom from the great bartender I in front of you," he murmured, with a small smile on his face and seriousness on his voice. "If you need to get attention, it's fine. But not here. Unless you want to be surrounded by more or less, senseless people."

"Would take the tip," I replied, as I left my payment on the countertop, before running to the dance floor myself. "Keep the change!" I exclaimed, knowing damn well that I only left a quarter as tip.

I barged through their session, dancing the night away with various people, drunk or tipsy. They gave me what I wanted; attention. "Crush the floor down!" Everyone exclaimed, as some random dance showdowns started.

As it got later, everyone started leaving, one by one. Not long after, I was left alone in the middle of the bar, still longing for more. The bartender was about to close the place.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed, lifting me up. "You only drank three shots, and you're limp as hell! I guess you got tired with all that dancing, huh?"

I nodded.

"You got too much attention," he murmured. "Left you weak. I warned you about that. Now, let's go get you a taxi."

"Thanks," I muttered. "Really needed the help.