I'm not quite done with the Royal Oak yet, because I barely talked about any of the people I met there. I don't have any photos of the place, but I'll put some photos of unrelated things at the end so it's not just a block of text. Also, I'm going to use initials to protect identity where appropriate, not that anyone's likely to care. However, there are two exceptions, and you'll see why.
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First, E&H. I met a young woman (E) and an older woman (H) who were living together. I assumed they were mother and daughter from they way they were interacting, but in hindsight I'm not sure they were. I saw H get drunker and drunker, and E seemed to simply be putting up with her; she was quite sober. I spoke to the two of them briefly, but about the basic stuff (me explaining I'm a visitor from the US, here on a trip, etc.). H was my loudest fan when I was playing guitar, though I doubt she realized how loud she was.
Towards the end of the night, H invited me to sit next to her, and started a very serious conversation about how I appeared to be uncomfortable with myself. I was somewhat taken aback, but admitted that being the lone American in the pub made me feel a little awkward, and that even after several Dylan songs had been played, I still felt like "the American hippie kid" by playing one myself. I was perhaps being hypersensitive to my own social miscues. She insisted that it was something else. I assured her that was the biggest thing going on at the moment.
Then, all of a sudden, she went from comforting to judgmental and said that I should get some Scottish shirts and a new haircut if I really care about fitting in. Scottish people don't run around with slogans on their shirts (I was wearing my United Workers Harriet Tubman shirt). It looked like it was going to become an argument. I explained that I was only there a week, so there was no need to change my whole look. She asked why I needed to make such a statement, why couldn't I at least tie my hair back. I responded that I felt tying my hair back and wearing plain clothes would be a statement, just a different kind of statement. We're always making statements, whether actively or passively.
As soon as I said that, she changed tone again and told me she thought it was great how independent I am. I thanked her, and she went to get a round of drinks. That was that. From my point of view, the universe was testing me through this old Scottish woman. But if I had to guess... from her point of view she was probably just drunk.
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Second, I should tell you about A. A is from Belfast, and doesn't like Americans much. As soon as I told him I was from the US, he began loudly singing his idea of an American patriotic song. I'm going to call it "Tis Of Thee The Beautiful Spangled Yankee Doodle America." It definitely wasn't a single, recognizable song, but certainly had elements and lyrics from several. Just before I started playing, he yelled, "Hey, who gave the Yank a guitar?" then looked around at his friends for confirmation and laughter, but they weren't listening. I don't think they were his friends, actually. I think they were some guys who he decided were his friends four minutes prior. Which is what he would later do to me. I responded, "The Scottish musicians gave the Yank the guitar" and proceeded to play my favorite Scottish song, and one of the Scottish guys recognized it, figured out the key, and joined in. Although I certainly didn't feel the need to "beat" this guy, it was certainly a cathartic moment.
I think the fact that I was largely unphased by his verbal assault struck him as somewhat of a challenge. After I played, he sat down near me and we started up a conversation. Turns out he worked in Ocean City, Maryland for a while, and we agreed that Baltimore was a rough city with a lot of issues. Well, first he called me an ass for insulting my hometown, then agreed with me about it, then started talking about how Belfast has similar issues. So... a bit of a hypocrite. Thankfully, he went home after a bit. He made me mildly uncomfortable, but that was the worst of it; there was too much positivity around me otherwise.
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For the sake of narrative structure, I want to save the most feelgood story for last. The problem is, I've got two and I can't decide. So, I'll start with the dead guy.
As I said in the last post, the Royal Oak is filled with regulars who come for both the music and the company. Many people seemed to know each other, which I think contributes to the atmosphere. Along those lines, there was a plaque hanging on the wall above the end seat of a bench. The plaque read the following (exact quote, give or take a word or two): "This seat belonged to Alec Wright until 14th August 2007. He was a grumpy old man, and we miss him." I thought that was sweet. It's not the sort of thing that would fly in most communities, but it worked where it was, and that's all that matters.
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The last guy I want to tell you about was Bill. I'm calling him by his real name because he asked me to tell all my friends about him. Bill is a janitor. Bill works for the government, possibly through an intermediate management company, I don't know. I don't even know if they have those in Scotland, or if pointless bureaucracy is an American thing. Point is, he was one of the night janitors for a government building. I believe he said the courthouse. He takes pride in his work, and told me that the place was spotless the whole time he was working there.
He started telling me this as we were both leaving the bathroom. I told him I was a tourist, and he asked if I had seen the Scottish Parliament building. Although he was pretty wasted, Bill was able to explain the above, and told me that he was out drinking tonight because he had just been moved to the Parliament, where he was made head of that cleaning crew. So, in six days, he would be starting his newer, better paying, and much more important cleaning job. Since it's been a week now, I suspect last night was Bill's first night on the job. Hope it went well.
The point I want to drive home is that this man's joy was infectious. Sure, he was moving from cleaning one building to cleaning another building, but to think that would be to completely miss the point. Bill was celebrating because he felt he had done a good job and was being recognized for it. I was incredibly humbled by his excitement, and I'll be thinking about him for a long time. I need to remind myself to be that happy about good things when they come along because it's a great way to live.
About ten minutes into the conversation, he had the wherewithal (despite his drunkenness) to notice that he'd been talking to a total stranger for quite some time. He apologized for yammering on, seeing as I probably came to listen to the music, not listen to some old guy talk about mopping floors. I told him that I appreciated the thought, but that I had, in fact, come to meet people, and I succeeded. He laughed and thanked me for listening. "I've been telling everyone," he said, because he wanted to celebrate. "As well you should," I told him, and congratulated him again. He then wandered off out of the bar, presumably to another bar.
I tell you this not only because I want to, but also because I promised I would. Bill told me that I should tell all my friends to visit Parliament and marvel at the cleanliness. More importantly, he told me to tell all my friends back home that I met the man in charge of cleaning it. He's a VIP in his own mind, for sure. But hey, I think he's Very Important too. So, I promised I'd tell everyone. And I succeeded. So, if you're ever in Edinburgh, check out the place. Not only is Parliament a tourist attraction in its own right, but I also hear that it's spotless.
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