Extreme! Vetting
In between playoff football games the talk down at the Pilot House Lounge usually turns to politics. These days, even during the games…. The other evening Bobby, the night bartender, had the TV turned to CNN at the request of the Vandiver Brothers who had wearied of the hockey game on ESPN. “Puck this, Bob! How about some news instead of this stupid game with teams we never heard of.” Bob’s a little new to the Lounge scene, a recent hire, and so he acquiesced, not realizing, I guess, he might as well have tossed a Roman Candle in the middle of the bar and yelled Fire!
The channel couldn’t have been switched more than 30 seconds before Wally, seeing a newscrawl about Trump firing his attorney general over his new immigration policy, went ballistic. “That stupid %#@!!*$” he hollered, “What terrorists does he think he’s keeping out?” From the back corner, Little Jimmy fired back, “The Muslims, that’s who!” If this had been Tombstone circa 1880, tables would’ve been overturned, the mirror shot out, bottles broken over drunken heads, the pandemonium spreading into the street outside, panicking the horses. It would’ve taken the Marshall to restore order, haul a few of the cowpokes to the hoosegow, maybe even lynch one or two.
But … this was the Pilot Lounge, and while it isn’t a bastion of civility in these decidedly uncivil times on the wild wild South End, violence is pretty much verbal and even occasionally regretted in the sober light of the following day. The argument went from banning Muslims from a few countries to letting Belgium and France immigrate, sides forming in the bar and the shouting making it impossible to carry any one argument to a logical conclusion. Finally it was Bob who shouted for order, swearing to cut everyone off if they didn’t shut the *%$#! UP!! Like I said, Bob was new and didn’t really understand the Rules of the Lounge. Course, who does?
But one of them is this: the bartender does not take a side. Not once, not slightly, not ever. Bob said to the suddenly quiet room, his threat to curtail their Monday night drinking effective as a punch to the gut, “I’ll tell you something about Extreme Vetting. Forget the damn Muslims, forget that. Forget even vetting the President. He never showed anybody any tax returns. You haven’t got a clue what he’s going to do. Nobody knows and maybe nobody cares. Just vote the man into office and see what happens. Vetting? Cripes! But here’s some Exteme Vetting for tonight. One more word from anybody about politics and I’m 86’ing you. You can go home and argue with your wife.” And with that Bob turned the hockey game back on and the sound way up. “Now,” he said, “who needs a refill?”
I don’t remember who won the game and I doubt anyone else did either. But we chose up sides and rooted for one team or the other. I hope I never watch another hockey game as long as I live.
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