Where's The Beer?

A woman walks into a bar and asks why they don't carry a particular beer. The bartender simply responds, "It's never been carried here.".

(A) The woman respectfully exits the bar.

(B) The woman demands to speak to a manager and requests that the beer immediately be made available.

(C) The woman makes a fuss, followed by a scene, then exits the bar furiously.

(D) The woman leaves the bar and proceeds to write a review, stating that the bar is the worst in town.

(E) The woman buys two random beers and tosses one in the face of the bartender and the other one in the face of a clueless bystander.

(F) The woman buys the bar and only serves the beer that she had ordered.

(G) The woman burns down the bar.

(H) The woman is so distraught that she expires

When you first look at the above intro and list, it seems like a simple story with many ending options. Would you believe this was a call for help? Would you believe this was the result of frustration in trying to explain feelings of hopelessness and helplessness?

For so many years, I have been trying to explain my views of the world. I try to list all of the reasons why I'm not particularly fond of one thing or the other, all subtitles under the grand ol' title "Life". And always, I am told, "That's Life". When I complain about struggle, pain, injustice, inequality, prejudice, unhappiness, lack, poverty, deception, betrayal -- all the beers served in Bar Earth -- I am informed that this is what life carries. The one thing I want -- perfection -- has never been served here ... essentially "Life has never carried this." Well, not never, if you believe in the whole story about Adam & Eve and the fall of mankind, and the entry of sin into the world. And blaze, blazay, blazhey.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who believed and accepted the story and the hope; this girl has grown into a woman who now only wants perfection in-the-now.

Each of the reactions at the bar represents one of the feelings of disappointment I experience when I talk to various people who have different lenses into the world, who completely accept it for what it is, and who offer different solutions to easing my pain/erasing my reasoning.

There are the god-loving people. They offer to pray for me. Not to be confused with the Jesus, religion-loving, other divinity-revering people. They are similar, but not exactly the same.

There are the alcohol-loving people. Maybe it's beer. Often times, it's wine. A few times, it's hard liquor. None of which I have a tolerance and/or taste for.

There are the 420-friendly people. And now that marijuana is legal in some states, it has increased the number of offers for "special brownies". Teas. Gummies. Even lotions!

My resistance is wearing thin. My wall of separation is getting thicker. To feel that there is no one to turn to. No one who will understand. No one who can really offer a word of consolation. To experience that feeling for the first time was absolutely frightening!

Who do I turn to when I just want to exit the bar?

So, I turned to my writing. I turned to my analogies. I turned to the one thing that almost always makes me smile and feel pre-heated on the inside, even if I'm not sure how high the heat will rise. I pieced words together and smiled at how much they made sense to me.

And so (I) The woman asks the bartender to suggest a beer that he likes, that others have liked and that would be strong enough to make her forget that Perfect Beer has never been served here.