"Life Below the Transom"

Another day under the transom, the neon among us figure was tucked inside and switched on over me. It marked the opening of the bar. I heard every bar in New York has to make the most of its space, with odd little nooks to fill with consideration.

However, my life as a “space filler” is a hard one. Let me paint the picture of why my station is so bizarre. I live in the bar Wonderville which has every consideration for human interaction and bonding. Games, alcohol, interesting decorations, inebriation, activity, music, stimulation. But between the bar area and the main gaming room is my little space. A small corridor, no! Hallway! No! Just a stunted chode like pre-room to the destination of the patron traveler. A depression of space between the doors leaves enough room for one table and one chair. That’s me! I’m the chair!

The great tradition of tables and chairs at bars is that we work together in our secret mission to perpetuate human enjoyment. But me, I’m sequestered away in this odd locale. Once in a while, an employee sits in me for their personal lunch break, or a socially awkward introvert may perch on me for a break from talking. But the dimensions of my space mean I am unfortunately doomed to be the spot for the singleton if a spot at all.

No one wants to sit in the little lonely cage under my illuminated transom if they are paired that night. Even I pity those who are so alone that they are unphased by sitting at a table with one chair, with only the option to stare blankly at the beer-stained neon lit wall while they drink their overpriced Brooklyn IPA. Yet I am the one who is stuck here! >:(

The end!