Five Dollar Wrench

The Allegory

Around closing time at The Shady Lady, the only customer still lingering was Quinn, who showed up with a bottle of her latest homemade Almost A Thing.

She, or he, but I'm gonna say they because that's how they were introduced to me...  They were one of our regulars.  Once a week, without fail.  They were the kind of person who constantly learns things, more for curiosity than for the sake of the thing.  If they don't know something, they become obsessed with figuring it out, even if only to prove to themselves they'd figured it out.

Recently, homemade absinthe had become one of those things.

They also liked to talk about concepts like Social Constructs while serving their almost-absinthe, which would absolutely fuck you up.  This happened from time to time on The Shady Lady rooftop.  One of those times, they said, "The only difference between lost and stolen is who's telling the story," and I thought, "This person sees me."

I don't do the friendship thing, but if I did...  They're cool.

On this particular evening, they were excited about the latest tweak of their almost-recipe, so we all went up to the roof after work, to watch the sunset and play Name That Hooch.

I was still obsessed with the emerald ring a customer tried to swipe with a Double-Drop swap, so my suggestions were The Green Gambit and The Green Meanie.

Lorraine owned the place.  Her suggestion was The Paradox, because it might be both genius and terrible.  I wasn't sure if she meant the recipe itself, or drinking it, but the answer would be the same either way.

Quinn's idea was to call it The Allegory.

"I don't get it," I said, as if my face hadn't told her that already.

"It's Plato's Cave," they said.  "What's real and what's an illusion?"

My mouth said, "Oh," but my face had doubts, so they explained it.

"Alright, imagine this.  You're born in a cave, and all you've ever seen are shadows on the wall.  And you hear echoes.  You fear the shadows and echoes because you don't know what they are."

Then they leaned back, swirling the intimidatingly dark green liquid in their glass, and said, "You spent your whole life in the cave.  It's your whole world.  It's all you know, until, one day, you manage to get free.  You find the way out of the cave, and as you step into the sunshine...  Boom!  You realize your whole reality was a lie.  The shadows and echoes were your own.  And everything outside of the cave?  That's the world, the way it really is.  This experience is overwhelming, because everything is so different from what you thought you knew, but it's all real."

Quinn topped off my glass, which was a spectacularly bad idea.

Then they said, "Now, imagine going back into the cave to tell the others what you've learned. They'd think you're nuts. They might even try to kill you for talking crazy."

They raised their glass in a mock toast, saying, "And that, darling, is how people react to the truth."

I stared deep into the drink and gave it a sniff before taking another swig.

"Is this supposed to be the sun?"

Quinn grinned. "I don't know.  I'm trying to copy something real, so maybe it's just an echo."

I ran my fingers along the cheap fake ring I'd swiped from the dumpy Double-Dropper, which I was now proudly wearing.

Quinn can't get enough of the philosophical shit, and the whole Cave thing got me wondering...  so I asked.

"What IS real, though?  What about this stuff you made?  What are we calling it?  The Allegory?  The Green Meanie?  It's real.  I'll be feeling it later, and that's when things get really real.  I don't have much experience with absinthe, but I'm pretty sure this tastes better, so why would it be judged as if it's less than the real thing?

"And what about the ring, downstairs, in the display case?  The emerald.  It's fake, but it looks nicer than a real one.  So, why is it worth less than a real one?  Who decides what has value?"

Lorraine said, "I do, because I own the place," and she got a laugh.  But I couldn't help feeling disappointed as the conversation got derailed, because I still wanted to know...

Who decides what's real?

Who decides what has value?

Who decides if one gender has less value than another?  Men do.  Bastards.  Every fucking one of 'em.

Who decides which ethnicity or skin tone or sexual orientation is better, as if such a thing could possibly be better.  Or worse.

What's in a person's head or heart.  That's what you fucking judge you fucking judgmental fucks.

And who decides when I should stop drinking, because, God Damn, they need to speak the fuck up, "BUT THEY NEVER DO!"

Lorraine decides if her people are OK to drive home, which is to say, she'd already decided if any of us were.

"ANY OF US AREN'T, WHICH IS TO SAY, NONE OF US ARE!"

Lorraine is good people.

"LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, BUT NOT ALWAYS!"

I'd decided The Green Meanie was evil, and I'd made peace with that.  But why did the evil have to taste so good, and was it my place to judge?

"JUDGE WHAT'S IN THE HEAD!!!" I shouted!

"I know, honey."

"AND THE HEART, LORRAINE!!!"

"I'm gonna have Quinn call you a cab."

"JUDGED TWAT LETS HEEE BE JUDGED!!!!!"

"Is she OK, Lorr?"

"I think she's stuck on something from an hour ago."