For extra immersion, play “Orange Juice” by Amelia Day & the Cloves when music is mentioned.
Only five more minutes. Then it’s closing time. I can do this.
Your shift has been dragging. You’ve been here for eight hours, and you’re ready to just go home. In the last hour alone, you’ve been yelled at by three drunk customers and had to clean up too many spilled drinks to count. Only one of the yelling customers had anything to do with a spilled drink. Why did he blame you for it? “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jo’s Saloon,” you always tell people. In reality, being here for the past five years has really started to drag you down. You feel like your life is stagnating already, and you’re only twenty-six. Jo’s pays the bills, though, and you desperately need the money. You aren’t going to make it without your wage and tips here. That said, this day has been a total nightmare, and you’re just ready for it to end.
I just have to finish sweeping the floor, and then I can lock up, you think. And then the door swings open.
You stifle a groan as you ask in the best customer service voice you can muster, “good evening, friend. We’ll be closing soon, but I can whip something up for you, real quick. What’ll it be?”
“Give me the drink you’d have if things had gone differently,” they request. You can’t get a good look at their face, and they’re speaking very gruffly, so you can’t tell who or what they are. They seem calm and polite, but… What kind of a request is that?
“I’m… sorry? I’m not sure what you mean. What I’d have?” you laugh. He isn’t laughing or even smiling. He doesn’t respond either. He just looks at you with a very serious expression. “Right. I guess I’ll try to figure something out for you.” You look through your options. They are incredibly widespread. Jo’s has just about every single thing you could want in a cocktail, you just have to be told which ones to combine. Normally, you’d just have a scotch, but that’s hardly the case for if things went “differently.” What does that even mean? Alright, I guess I’ll start experimenting, you think. You grab a few random bases and modifiers in the cupboard and a few more in the freezer and lay them across the bar. “Anything here look good to you?”
The customer just looks on for a bit and then shrugs. “I told you to give me what you’d have. You know yourself better than I do, I’m sure.”
You try not to get mad at that. I might know myself, but I don’t know you. You grab a cocktail glass and a mixer. After throwing your usual block of ice into the mixer, you get to work, randomly tossing in components. First, you base it with whipped cream vodka, but then… something in the room shifts. You feel it, best describable as a chill down your neck, you have no idea what shifts, but you can immediately tell something has changed. You look up, and the customer gives away no clue that they have noticed the same. You look around, and nothing immediately stands out. Then you see it. The interior sign has changed from “Jo’s” to “Jo-Anne’s”. Jo has always been short for Jo-Anne, but nobody you know ever calls her that. Whenever she comes into the saloon, everyone simply calls her Jo. The place has always been called Jo’s. You rub your eyes, but it doesn’t change back.
“Hey, friend. You just came in from outside, right? What did the sign say?” You figure if anyone knows what’s going on, it would be this customer.
They shrug again. “Jo-Anne’s Saloon, same as it’s been for over a decade,” he says. Now you’re really confused. You grew up here, you’ve never been in the financial situation to leave this nowhere town, and this place has never been Jo-Anne’s, and definitely not in the last decade. What could you do, though? Whether this is a dream or a hallucination, long-term or otherwise, you’re in the middle of making a drink. You pour a root beer into the mixer, and feel it again. This time you look straight at the sign, but it hasn’t changed at all. Still “Jo-Anne’s.”
You’re about to look back down to continue working on the drink, when the customer pipes up. “Art school, eh? That’s a lot of money, but a noble pursuit. Good on ya, I hope you get the money.” You blink. What are they talking about? You follow their eyes, and see they’re looking at my tip jar, but instead of “TIPS,” it says, “ART SCHOOL FUND.” You had given up art school years ago, only a year or so after getting the job. It’s just too expensive, especially since it’s out of town and you definitely couldn’t foot the tuition as well as the gas money. Did Jo or the other barkeep change the tip jar when you hadn’t noticed? No, that wouldn’t make sense. The other barkeep never knew about your dream of acting, and Jo knew you had given up on it. Your eyes drift to the schedule, posted on a pillar from the bar. You notice that the time when you aren’t working is marked out as “SCHOOL,” which definitely hadn’t been there before. So not only have you not given up art school, you’re already in it? And you’re making enough money here to continue my pursuit? When you got in today, you barely had enough money to keep a roof overhead and food on your table. Sometimes, you even needed to rely on your mom to rescue you in the weaker-tipped months, so where had the money to start school come from? At this point, though, you aren’t sure you care, you’re just loving the possibility of living out your dream.
On the other hand, what’s causing these changes? Is it the drink? You’re making something that you would drink “if things had gone differently.” Is the drink determining what changes? Could you really have that kind of influence right now? Or is it the customer? You decide you have to find out. You look at your array of components and decide to try something a little wacky: orange juice. Just a splash, to add a tiny sting to it. You don’t have to look around to tell what changes this time, you can hear it. A song that you swear you’ve never heard before, playing on this never-ending ten-track loop over the speakers. Rather, if you were to guess, a song that hadn’t existed at all before you started making this drink. You have to smile when you hear the chorus and the woman starts singing about orange juice. This song feels both nostalgic and undeniably modern.
You know you can only add one or two more components without completely overpowering the others, while also intentionally overpowering the orange juice, so you have to choose carefully. You settle on a splash of whipping cream, with the thickness and richness feeling likely to keep the sting of citrus without the flavor of it. You look around. Nothing seems to have changed. You look at the customer, who at this point, is just scrolling on their phone waiting for their drink with a knowing smile. Why does it feel like they’re trying to tell you something? You check your phone. Somehow, it’s still five minutes until closing. You decide if time isn’t passing, and your customer isn’t paying attention, you may as well check your messages. There aren’t any. New or otherwise, there are no messages at all. You check your contacts list. It’s almost empty. The only person on the list was Jo-Anne.
You start freaking out. Your phone’s been wiped? What’s going on? You needed answers, and you knew from whom you had to get them. “Alright, you must know what’s going on. I need you to start talking.”
The customer looks up from their phone, eyes still covered, and smiles at you. “You’ve created the life you wanted. This is what would be if things had gone differently. You’re set for success. You’re going to art school. You got the money to get yourself on your feet and you’re managing this joint for Jo-Anne. But she’s all you have left. Your parents died four years ago in a crash, but their money is what got you started in school. The hectic schedule of school and work means you’ve never had time to forge any real friendships, so those you had before don’t know you here. Jo-Anne’s the only person you ever talk to. Sweet lady, but you got no-one else.”
“So… The life I’ve always wanted. But I’m an orphan with no friends. I don’t know how to feel about that,” you ponder. Is this real? Is anything real? You aren’t sure anymore. And is a life without the people you want still classifiable as the life you want? What does this person have to do with it, and even more so, what about the drink?
“I know you’re confused,” the customer says, “and I wish I could answer all of your questions, but I can’t. I’ll make this as simple as possible, though. I asked for the drink you’d order if things had gone differently. This is the drink you’d order if this was your life. You’ve chosen this combination, so you’ve chosen this life path without knowing it. Since you didn’t know, though, I offer you a final choice: you can give me this drink and close up Jo’s Saloon, you’ll keep your current relationships and family, but you’ll likely never have a chance to follow your dreams, and you’ll continue barely keeping your head above water. Alternatively, you can drink your cocktail. You’ll stay here, in this life you’ve created, following your dreams, keeping afloat without having to worry too much about drowning in debt, but having to restart completely from a social stance. You may build new and rebuild old connections. Or you may not. That would be up to you. You simply need to choose: Are you going to drink that?”
You’re floored. You can’t just leave your family and friends behind, can you? But your life has already stagnated completely, you’re barely scraping by, and you’re only twenty-six. The economy isn’t exactly getting any better, either. You’re on a road to nowhere in your current life, but at least you have friends to go nowhere with. What will you do? What can you do?