Loneliness Profiteers

In This Issue:

1) The story of how I fell for a bartender at a popular restaurant chain
2) How to guard your heart from “loneliness profiteers” who bank on your misery

2018 was a hard year for me. That February, my parents pulled the plug on my time at Santa Barbara City College (justifiably so - I basically didn’t go to class).

I had to leave the first friends I’d ever made behind to move back to my hometown of Fresno, CA (Which US News ranked as the 146th best city in America - out of 150).

My dad didn’t want me to move in with him & revert to our old patterns, so instead I moved into a dingy bedroom with baby-themed wallpaper & the odor of cat piss, where I lived with one of my dad’s younger friends, a decent enough guy - if kinda quiet.

It was the loneliest season of my life thus far - mostly just me & the cats who frequently wet my bed. Those months were the closest I’ve ever felt to beaten, even compared to my time being force-marched around the wilds of Utah for wilderness therapy.

I hadn’t yet started going to the coding bootcamp that would get me back on track in life. I hadn’t even gotten my driver’s license yet (a big challenge in car-centric Fresno). My early twenties were flying by before my tired eyes - and I had nothing to show for it.

One of the only things that made my life bearable at the time was the PF Changs a few blocks from my new home. They served a lunch special - a huge plate of delicious vegetable fried rice - for just eight dollars. Three or four times a week, I’d go in, sit at the bar and order a glass of water and the fried rice.

I’d enjoy the upscale (for Fresno) atmosphere and feel slightly more “okay”. It wasn’t just the tasty food or the pleasant vibe that brought me in, though.

There was a bartender - her name eludes me, not that it matters - who I would always hope was working. She was a beautiful woman - tall, with long brown hair, who I’d guess twenty-five or twenty-six years old at the time.

She had kind eyes and a soft voice, and was friendly & conversational enough to get me thinking all the wrong ideas. Every time I went & she wasn’t there, my day felt ruined. Every time she was there, I felt terrible when I had to pay my bill and go.