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“You gotta hide me!”
Happy hour was winding down and I had a shitload of barware to wash. My barback hadn’t shown up for work, so I was flying solo. Somehow this little guy had sneaked around to my side of the bar and was crouched underneath. He’d pop his head up every couple of seconds and peer at the door over the zinc countertop.
“You can’t be back here.”
“Please don’t let her get me!”
He didn’t look like the kind of guy that has women problems; I couldn’t imagine him getting a woman to notice him in the first place. He looked to be about five and a half feet tall, although it was pretty hard to tell with him all crouched down. About twenty-five, he’d lost most of his hair.
“Who’s after you?” I was intrigued. As a bartender, I get to hear about people’s problems, most of them run of the mill. Cheating lovers, no money, my wife doesn’t understand me. I had a feeling his situation wasn’t same old, same old.
“The doctor. She’s fucking with my head!”
His girlfriend was a doctor? Interesting. He didn’t look like someone who would run with that kind of crowd. His clothes were dirty, and his face was smudged, and, frankly, I could smell a little B-O.
“You can’t be back here.”
“Just let me stay here. I can’t be out there in the bar with all those—” and he stared up at me, and I have never seen anyone look so scared in my life—”people. Let me just stay here. She can’t see me from the street. I won’t be in your way.”
I was starting to like this guy—well, at least feel sorry for him. “Let me get you a drink. What’s your poison? Beer? Wine?”
“NOOOO!” He screamed the word. “ No alcohol. Potophobia. Anything, not alcohol.” His eyes were pleading.
I shrugged and mixed a Shirley Temple with two cherries. “What’s potophobia?”
“Fear of alcohol.”
“Bogus.”
“For sure.” He drank his Shirley Temple in three slurps.
“I’m surprised that you came into a bar, if booze is that scary.”
“I have to try to overcome my fears as best I can,” he said. “I have so many. I’m polyphobic.”
“Like what are you scared of? Dogs and stuff?”
“God, I wish it was that simple.” He mourned his empty glass. I whipped up a virgin daiquiri. “I’m scared of all kinds of stuff. Stuff that you wouldn’t think anyone was scared of.”
I thought hard to come up with the most off-the-wall thing I could think of. “Are you scared of, say, peanut butter?”
He shuddered. “Oh, God. Peanut butter! Arachibutyrophobia! Just the thought of it, the way it can stick to the roof of your mouth, I feel like gagging, can’t breathe—”
I whacked him on the back, handed him his drink, and changed the subject. “Would you like something to eat? The kitchen makes a killer white pizza. Lots of garlic. It’s good.”
The guy turned pale. “No, not garlic. No, please, no garlic. Anything but garlic.” He buried his face in his hands. I think he said something like “alliumphobia.”
“Cheese toast,” I said, and keyed in the order. Maybe food would take his mind off his problems.
The guy got quiet. I started polishing glasses. A thermonuclear blonde came in and sat at the end of the bar. She had mondo tits that made me want to applaud; this was a bunny who’d never been in here before, or I’d have remembered. She ordered my special Panty Dropper Punch, and seemed to be looking for someone. I hoped she couldn’t see my friend back there; she’d think he was blowing me or something.
“Could I have another one of these?” my floor-buddy asked. I put the ingredients for a daiquiri in the blender, this one strawberry. I couldn’t help but think a couple good belts would help the dude, and I thought about sneaking them in, but I didn’t want him freaking out.
“How’d you get so afraid?” I asked. The cheese toast arrived and he ate three pieces.
“Long story.” He ate another bite of cheese toast, and then his eyes kind of went unfocused.
“I was a little short of cash. I was a history grad student, working on my master’s thesis, normal as you are, not scared of anything. I had a big car repair, my rent was due.......” He nibbled a bite of the toast and washed it down with some of the daiquiri. “I saw an ad in the psych department for test subjects for a phobia experiment, thousand bucks a month. That was a fortune to me. I figured, what the hell, I don’t have any phobias, right?” He crunched cheese toast thoughtfully.
“The experiment was to induce phobias in non-phobic people. It was supposed to be minor stuff, things that wouldn’t make that big a deal if you were scared of them. They promised they would reverse them when the study was done. Nothing major like airplanes or riding in cars or anything that would fuck you up—more obscure stuff that you probably don’t encounter that often in daily life. Or that’s what they told me.
“Turns out I was a great test subject. Totally took to the combo of hypnosis and drugs they used. The first thing was that one you just mentioned a while ago...... you know, the, um, sandwich spread thing....... “
I nodded. You could live without peanut butter if you had to.
The blonde signaled for another drink; I took her a double Neptune Cocktail so she wouldn’t interrupt for a while. She scanned the crowd. Later I noticed her go back toward the restrooms. A shame, I thought. Totally primo chick like that getting stood up.
“What happened after the sandwich thing?”
“She did the other one you mentioned, and again, I took to it like a pelican takes to fish. But then she got more daring....... Bathmophobia—fear of stairs. I had to quit my history classes because the classes were on the second floor of a building with no elevator. Then it was bibliophobia—you know, fear of books. Forget studying. I had a girlfriend back then. They gave me coitophobia, and as a bonus, philematophobia.” I must have looked puzzled, because he added, “Sex and kissing.” He made a face when he said them, like he’d just said “drinking vomit” or “eating shit.”
“Gnarly! Why didn’t you stop?”
“I couldn’t! I signed a contract and they held me to it. I went by a lawyer’s office, but those books in there......” He shuddered and held out his glass. I made him another, but I grabbed the rum when he wasn’t looking. The blonde called me over.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for a bald man, so tall. He smells bad, and he’s wearing overalls.” This was the doc! “He’s a disturbed man, and I need to get him back to the hospital. I saw him come in here.” Two guys walked up and I instantly named them Hans and Franz.
I said I hadn’t seen him.
I went back to my pal. He went on like I hadn’t left. “And then it was somniphobia; I’ve barely slept in weeks. Then it was ablutophobia, and she really fucked me up when she added automysophobia. Of course the bitch removed the one that would have left me clean.” I must have looked confused again. He said, “Fear of bathing, and fear of being dirty.” He fanned his armpit.
“Wasn’t very smart to make you afraid of doctors,” I said.
“Iatrophobia. Got that one all on my own.”
I squatted so my face was level with his. I handed him his daiquiri. “Look, pal, I put a little rum in this.” I could tell he was starting to freak out. “Bro, just a tiny bit. You need it, and you need to overcome all these fears. If you don’t, you’re going to be miserable forever. Take a tiny sip,” and I held it up to his mouth like a baby. He drank a teaspoonful. “That’s great,” I praised. He had tears in his eyes, but he clutched the glass and took another sip. He smiled at me and drank half the glass.
“You faced your fear and came out OK. You can do it with all that other stuff! Baby steps, dude, baby steps.” I looked up and saw the blonde glaring at us from over the bar.
“There you are, Harvey.” He tried to get away, but Hans and Franz had come around the bar and were on either side of him. He looked like a Ken doll in their grasp as they led him to the door, kicking and screaming. The patrons stared.
Harvey calmed and looked back at me. “Baby steps,” he whispered. I nodded. “Good daiquiris,” and he flashed me a thumbs up he exited in the grasp of the two men, his feet not touching the floor.
Doctor Blonde Goddess glared at me as she trailed them out of the bar. “He’s got six months left of the study,” she said. “I’ve got a whole list of things yet to give him.” She stalked out, and I have to admit she did have a nice ass.
I went back and washed Harvey’s daiquiri glass. A new guy had seated himself at the bar, and when I walked up, he said, “My wife left me this morning.”
Back to the grind.
