Tenders

Posted on Wed 27th Jun, 2018 @ 6:25pm by Carlo Rienzi & Elizabeth Anderson M.D.
Edited on on Thu 28th Jun, 2018 @ 9:16am

1,916 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Brushfires
Location: Dr. Elizabeth Anderson's Office, Tivoli Gardens
Timeline: MD20, 1400 hours

Carlo Rienzi checked the address of the old-fashioned plank building against the advertisement on his PADD and nodded to himself. Yes, this was the right place. He mounted the stairs to the second floor in time to the music he could hear through the walls of the dance studio that took up the first floor.

He tried the door and stepped into the green and blue waiting room. It was empty except for the furnishings and a couple of broad-leafed plants, so he pressed the button at the receptionist's window and waited.

Odd how you couldn't hear the dance music through the floor. Must be some kick-ass soundproofing, he thought. He caught sight of the old-fashioned water dispenser and drew himself a cupful. It came out chilled to the touch, which Carlo approved of. He drank down the water and tossed the paper cup into the trash can.

He went to the sign-in sheet and wrote his name and health insurance company on the top line and then checked 'Walk-in.' "Hello? Anyone here?" he called out. It was a bit late for lunch.

Elizabeth came out of her office and down the short hallway to the check-in area, observing the man as she moved toward him. Her first impression was tall, lanky and dark; definitely Earth-human stock. His eyes were slightly lined at the corners, as if he laughed often.

"Yes. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I haven't had a chance to hire anyone for the front office yet. I'm Dr. Anderson. How may I help you today?" She held out her hand in the traditional Earth, now Federation, greeting. She was working on not using the EMH greeting, 'how may I be of service'.

"Oh! Nice to meet you," Carlo said as the doctor entered the waiting room. She looked cute, for a doctor. He shook her hand. "I'm Carlo Rienzi. I wondered if I could talk to you for a while. I don't exactly need psych counseling, but I do need advice, and I don't expect it for free."

Glancing at the clock to be sure, Elizabeth replied, "Sure, come on back. My next appointment isn't for about an hour." She led him into her office. It was decorated in soft greens and very light lavender. A comfortable sofa sat facing a plush chair, with a faux wood table between them. There was a tall tree-like plant with long shiny leaves in a big glossy dark purple pot. It was something Flavia had sent along to her because she needed something living, but she wanted it to stay living. Accessing a database about plant care and actually caring for them were two very different things!

"Sit where you'd like," the doctor told Rienzi. "Would you care for some strawberry lemonade that wasn't replicated?"

"Sure!" Carlo said. "Thanks." He sat on the sofa, facing the chair. "It's nice and restful in here. Thanks for seeing me; I'll try not to take up too much time."

Handing him a frosty glass of pale pink, Elizabeth said, "Take the time you need. What is it that requires someone else's input?" She sat down in the chair across from him, placing her own drink on the table, leaned comfortably back in the chair, and waited to see how he thought she could help.

"Well..." Carlo sipped his drink. His eyes widened. "Not bad! Add a little vodka, some lavender syrup, and a mint sprig to this, and you'd have quite a cocktail." He fell silent and thought a moment, wanting to choose his words. "I'm the owner of Pub 10-42, up on deck 595. I've been in the business since I was 18, but this is the first time I've owned a bar. It's been open for about an Earth year, maybe a little longer.

"Before that, I worked at a gay dive bar in Manhattan. I loved the place, but it was hard-core. Fights every night. I was young--ger, a little wild. I worked my way up to chief bartender there just before new management took over. I stayed with the new guy for a while, but the workplace ambiance just wasn't the same, you know? And I was getting a little tired of the bar fights. So when I got the chance to come out here and open my own place, I jumped at it."

He frowned for a moment and went on. "But I'm learning that owning the business is way more than being chief bartender at someone else's business. I don't mean keeping the books or paying the taxes and stuff; I mean dealing with the people who come in. At Mojo's, I was the kind of guy who could crack a smile out of most people, lighten the mood, and so on--and I still can; don't get me wrong. But now, I'm asking myself questions. Like, 'What does this guy do when he leaves my joint? He's an angry drunk at my place. What's he like when he gets home? Does he have family there? Is he messing with them?' I have to think of that, now. I have to find out and limit him, talk to him a lot more seriously than I ever would have at Mojo's. I don't know where my head was, then."

"I think you're telling me that you feel a responsibility now that you didn't feel before," Dr. Anderson encouraged him. "You're seeing that a customer's actions can have unpleasant consequences."

"Yes, that's right," Carlo said. "I should've felt more responsibility before, but all I used to worry about back then was making sure we called a cab for guys if they got drunk and not selling them any more drinks after a certain point. I didn't ever want my people to go home completely sloshed. When I stopped serving 'em alcohol, I'd give 'em water. But they usually didn't stick around once I started doing that."

"Perhaps you think that you share in those consequences?"

Carlo thought about that. "Not really. We all gotta be responsible for our own selves, right? Thousands of drunk guys go home and just peacefully sleep it off. So can this guy I'm thinking of--if he would. He's usually had a couple before he shows up at my place, and if I refused to serve him, he'd just flip me the bird and go somewhere else. So even if I did the responsible thing and didn't serve him, I'd really only be passing the buck. It wouldn't solve the real problem."

Carlo looked back at the doctor. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm good, but I'm not up to your speed. You actually know what you're doing. I took a course of study that lasted two weeks. Aside from a bartending license, it gave a polite nod to alcoholism and the psychology of drinking behavior, and that was it. I'm working on instinct and just the philosophy of not being a jerk and not letting myself be walked on. I'm a bartender, but you're a mind-tender. You have a doctorate. These people need someone like you. But how do I get them to go to you?"

"Oh!" Elizabeth said, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken. "Then you aren't looking for help for yourself, necessarily, but for your customers. That's a novel approach for a bar owner, I'd say. Do you have an idea about what you want to do? Or is that what you are looking for here?" It might be an interesting proposal, if he did have an idea. The question was how to help people who might not perceive the need for help, or want it, even if they did. While she waited for the man to reply, she set a routine running to search databases for such proposals in the previous 200 years.

Carlo spread his hands out in front of him, palms up. "Obviously, I can't force anyone to see you, even if I can tell they need it. But I wondered if I could put up an ad for you in my bar, and some business cards? So that maybe it might stick in their minds once in a while? And once they're sober, maybe they reach in their pocket for something and find your card there? Because I'm not above slipping one into their pockets," Carlo added. "Most of my guests are good people, just there to have a little fun and eat some Italian food. But there are a handful I worry about."

Elizabeth considered his words. She could use more business, it was true, but did she want to do something without thinking it through? "Let me give this some thought, Mr. Rienzi. Of course I can give you business cards, and you can pass them along to whomever you like. That's not a problem. I'd like to think about the flyer, though. Let me do some research," which has already started she thought. "I can come up with a plan specifically for those who may have some kind of addictive or abusive behavior, perhaps. Tell me, doesn't your bar provide Sober-Up or synthetic alcohols that don't cause drunken behaviors?"

"Oh, yeah," Carlo said. He took a long swallow of his lemonade, nearly draining the glass. "And all sorts of people drink those--people who just don't want to get drunk, and genuine alcoholics who want the bar ambiance but want to stay off the real thing. I'm happy to serve synthehol. Means less trouble for me and my bouncer to have to deal with. The reason I offer my really drunk customers only water instead is because they need to re-hydrate, not switch to synthehol."

"Yes, that's true," Elizabeth said, thinking he didn't realize she had a medical degree as well. At least he knew that his customers needed water! "I am surprised, however, that there are enough people who want to get drunk. I understand the after-effects are quite ... unpleasant. I've never experienced it myself, but I've known those who have."

Carlo's eyes widened at her. "You didn't get shnockered once, not even in high school or college? You must've been raised by Catholic nuns."

Anderson merely smiled, and leaned forward to take a long drink from her lemonade, thinking. "It's possible the behaviors which concern you are only visible when someone's inhibitions are destroyed by alcohol, and that the true problem is the behaviors more than the drinking. That's why I want to think about this for a day or two, but I'll definitely give you some cards to tuck into pockets.

"You know," she switched gears, "I think it's rather unusual for a businessman to feel a responsibility for his customers' behavior when using his product. Am I wrong about that?"

"It's not really unusual," Carlo said. "Once I got experienced enough, I realized a lot of bartenders do their best to make sure their customers are safe. Not sure they go so far as advertising for a counselor in their bars, but hey, I own the bar, you're here, and I've met you. I figure it's worth a go."

Elizabeth laughed, "Good enough for me, Mr. Rienzi. I appreciate your care for your customers, and for your coming to me. It is worth a go, as you say. If one person is helped, then it's worth it." Good old laws of robotics don't apply to me these days, but still, nothing wrong with helping where I can.

 

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