The art of storytelling has always been of interest to me.
Whether it’s just you and a bunch of buddies bullshitting around a table
slamming Sam Adams Summer Ale as the Sox play an irrelevant interleague game or
you’re enduring the crazy ramblings from the Vietnam Vet father of the
one-night-stand-turned-girlfriend (at least until ‘that time of the month’
FINALLY comes along and you know you’re in the clear to hit the old dusty
trail), they’re an experience. Good or bad. The manner in which the story is delivered
is often just as important as the story itself at times.
With my experience
bar tending, I hear a lot, A LOT, of stories. Unfortunately with most I hear, I
find myself putting on a facade with the shit-eating grin, all ears, giving the
illusion I’m eating up every word. It always seems to play out that after 8
Dewar’s on the rocks, 11 mojitios, or a bucket of margaritas every twenty-two
minute story ends with that uncomfortable anticlimactic conclusion of “Oh man,
you just really needed to be there.”
Earlier this week,
I heard one though. I heard a friggin’ story. Absolutely basking in its
awesomeness after the conclusion, punch line almost, I knew I’d be passing this
one on to friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers alike, full well
knowing it could be appreciated by really anyone. That to me, that
unprejudiced, timeless nature is the foundation of a GOOD story. Given that I’m passing along this gem third
hand (maybe even forth for all I know), I can only hope I do it justice.
A regular of mine,
Billy, has a sister living up in New York City as she completes her Masters.
His sister Kate is around twenty-seven, twenty-eight-ish, with her husband being
a few years older. They’re coming home after a wedding and reception at some
hoity-toity venue in Manhattan, jumping from bus to bus, subway to subway, ultimately
navigating the way back to their house in Brooklyn. Needless to say, it’s
extremely late (a little bit past 4 am) as they’re two of maybe six passengers
in the last car of the D train. Thanks to the open bar and three too many
Cosmos, Kate is nodding in and out of consciousness as her husband of four
years, John, nudges her. Assuming he’s just elbowing her to wake her up, she
doesn’t hear a word he says. He nudges her again, “Kate…Kate! Fucking look!” he whispers in a muffled, aggressive murmur. Disoriented, she looks around to see what the hell
he is talking about because, as far as she’s concerned, Jesus himself better be
juggling unicorns to justify John preventing her much needed nap.
“John, I’m fucking tired. PLEASE just wake me up at our
stop!” she slurred out. To ensure that she’s fully conscious, he quickly double-taps
her with his elbow. Her entire body
burns with fury as she grudgingly opens her bloodshot eyes. Before the first
explicative can leave her mouth, John stares dead ahead, giving nothing more
than the slightest upward nod like it’s the universal sign for ‘Dude,
look!’ Very carefully, he whispers for
her to look down the train to the one guy sitting alone, reading a book. She
looks…and looks…and looks. It takes a second to register. She slowly turns back
to John and asks if he really thinks it’s ‘him’. He mouths “I don’t know,” as
not to be heard.
The two
immediately become infatuated with this one, sole man, sitting 20 feet down
from them on the train because it looks *exactly* like Bill Murray. They’re
sure of it, at least they think they MAY be sure of it, if that makes sense.
They both know it goes without saying that neither one of them can actually go
ask this complete stranger if he really IS Bill Murray for a number of reasons.
For one, they’re aware they’re slightly intoxicated and exhausted, so their
judgment isn’t par for the course to begin with. They also know this poor guy
has most likely been plagued by this same question a dozen times a day since
Ghostbusters came out 30 years. Most importantly, they both know if it actually
is the legend that IS Bill Murray, the last thing in the world he wants to deal
with is a couple of drunk 30-somethings asking him if he’s the dude from
Caddyshack while he’s minding his own business, reading a book on the D train
at four in the morning.
Covertly, they
sit and watch, and watch, and watch, trying to read him as best they can
without giving themselves away. The wheels begin to squeal as the train pulls up
to the next stop, and ‘he’ casually closes his book and makes his way to the
doors, conveniently located right next to where Kate and John are sitting. The
two meticulously watch his every step towards the exit. Just before he’s about
to step off and make his way to a connecting train or coffee stand or where
ever, he stops dead in his tracks… turns to the both of them… and with the
slightest half smile, says “You know if you tell anybody tomorrow, they’re
never going to believe you anyway,” and walks off.
Now that’s a fucking story.
That is a great story--and I think you have articulated the difference between a great story and a rambling pile of junk. A story has a sense of purpose, an arc, or, as Aristotle simply summarized: "a beginning, a middle, and an end." All three parts have to feel like they are working together.
ReplyDeleteI find that a good story teller knows what details to focus on, when to exaggerate, and, most important of all, when and how to finish.
dude, niice!
ReplyDeleteand I agree, the art of story telling used to be our only form of keeping history, and when written records were developed the art form was lost. I really wish more people would learn how to tell stories, it does much more for a person hearing it from a grandparent then reading it in a paper...
Bane
That's pretty shitty that a big star was on the subway by himself at 4 in the morning. My, how the mighty have fallen. He was always my favorite celebrity jeopardy contestant. And I don't mean the SNL parodies, I mean the real celebrity jeopardy.
ReplyDeleteThat's a really good story. I am a fan of Bill Murray since I saw him in Ghostbusters. I think I would have worked up the courage to walk over to him.I have not been blessed with the opportunity to meet someone famous like this yet. I hope one day I get the opportunity to meet someone famous and have a chat with them.
ReplyDeleteBill Murray is pretty distinctive these days, that must have been one hell of a night! This story is so cool, I halfway wish that I could be drunk in the middle of Tampa at 4AM and see one of the biggest actors out there rather than someone else's fist about to crush my jaw or the fabric of some manhunter's car!
ReplyDelete