of turquoise and addicts

I have always dismissed the style of sporting large stoned rings as I find they catch on everything, scratch others in a heated game of Egyptian Rat Screw, and just all in all are too flashy for my taste. However, amidst years of spoon rings and silver designed pieces, I have also worked in small turquoise numbers because I simply cannot escape the marvel I feel toward the particular colour. This past year I have managed to lose the last two turquoise rings that I used to have and so began my search through Maine's seaside towns, the Old Port, and every boutique and consignment store around Massachusetts's North Shore for the perfect turquoise ring.
Not to worry, I found one. :)

Other recent adventures have included starting a new job as case manager/project head in Lynn working with high school dropouts, kids on probation, etc. It's been a taxing position to start up a program with my supervisor only in contact a couple days a week from New Hampshire and just all around trying to keep my head on straight while managing the beginnings of this program, answering to my boss south of Boston, and trying to reel in kids from barber shop hang outs, street corners, and the ones who have all but completely slipped through the cracks in the Lynn school system. It's the most exciting, terrifying, incredible job I could have dreamed of.

In addition, the hotel I bartend at was hosting a conference of over 900 members of Narcotic's Anonymous. THAT was an interesting crowd. Throughout Friday afternoon, I saw:
A woman who had been drunk since the previous night, distraught over having just said goodbye to her possibly-soon-to-be-deployed-for-a-sixth-time fiancé (he was summoned to report to his commander after failing to show up for routine drilling a few weeks ago, and they both presume the consequence will be that he is deployed…?).
The local drunk sexist old man that comes in routinely throughout the week to drink pinot grigio and hit on women 1/3 of his age.
A man proudly spouting that he's been clean and sober since 1998.
Kids my age with tattoos and piercings, proactively attending marathon meetings and support sessions.
Two guys playing pool, where one said to the other following a scratch, "Simon, stop shooting heroine and start shooting pool!"
Two women calmly sitting down to lunch with decaf tea, sweater sets and genuine pearls.
And everything inbetween.
the clientele seen when one works at a hotel bar is far from mundane. I see it all, hear all the stories, and meet all the people from every walk of life imaginable. Movie producers, jazz musicians, the desperate fiancés of brave soldiers. Drug addicts from every walk of life, mothers of daughters looking for college, ranchers from Colorado. Bankers, brewers, bakers and Baptists. Officers and gentlemen, football coaches, high strung pageant moms with their toddlers in tiaras, the aspiring romance novelist, and the Chicago chef who drinks Canada Dry.
As a sociologist, I love it. I thrive on these interactions. On the varying degree of class and the constant change of faces and the countless accents and languages, skin colors, ages- everything. It's beautiful.
And I hear it all, too.
I hear the stories that make people laugh so hard when they remember, they nearly fall off their barstools (with only one drink!). I hear the stories of old couple that have been perfected to a rhythmic, familiar telling after years of sharing the tale with friends, family, strangers. I hear the stories that make one person blush, another guffaw, and the teller's eyes light up with the thrill of the memory. I hear political opinions, childhood memories, snippets from international travel, the tell-tale tragedy of business deals tanked, games won, moves made, girls lost…what was her name? I'll have another, yes- thank you. You know, you have very pretty eyes… Oh! Thanks, hun. That'll be five fifty.
And I love it all.
And I am happy to hand over the glass of water, extra ice, two limes with my turquoise-ringed hand to the beautiful transvestite drug addict, call it a day, turn off the lights, and walk away from the bar sober and fulfilled.