The Economists

It was just past 8 p.m. when Ian entered the pub half-expecting it to be cleared out since there were no games on and the bartender had raised the price on drinks recently which was a harrowing experience for many of the boys at the construction office Ian worked at, but, nevertheless, he thought he might find a bit of comfort, a bit of desperately needed connection with a human being, even if she was just handing him a glass of export stout, showing a smile, and asking 3 minutes later if he wanted another before Ian decided to order something off the menu just as the first waves of intoxication hinted at his eyesight, the heaviness in his belly, and the lightness of his soul.

“You guys still have the corned beef?” he asked the waiter.

“Ran out earlier tonight,” the barkeep said. She took another customer’s order and reached for the taps, letting three of them open and into pint glasses. 

Ian looked around the pub. There was too much tweed. 

“You’re busy tonight,” he said.

“It’s the university crowd,” she said. “Some economics thing.”

Ian turned around again to see a crowd of men in wool sweaters, blazers, and button-up shirts huddled around a woman in a red pantsuit. Ian never went to college. He eschewed academics by favoring work with his hands. The transition from his CTE training in high school to a carpentry apprenticeship in the Bronx was only natural. 

“I think they said they were economists,” the bartender added. She moved the pints, three glasses pushed against each other, safely from the taps to the bar. She pocketed the 20-dollar bill, smiled, and thanked the customer.

“Maybe they’re plotting to fix the prices here,” Ian said. He was half-joking. But the serious half truly wondered what was going on. And the woman in the pantsuit — he’d never seen anyone like that before in the pub. “Or maybe they’re just kicking back.”