Unaddressed

At the bar, I wait to be served for quite some time. I am passed over continually, but I’m not sure if I just haven’t been present enough. But the ‘Sirs’ and ‘Madams’ addressed at those served ahead of me make me think that I have become invisible by address. They cannot serve me, because they cannot address me.

Later, I am alone waiting for my friend who has gone to the loo in the interval. I am alone but for a middle-aged man similarly waiting. We have both been given a beer without the means to open it. I see him look around in desperation. As I pop the top of mine with a handy keyring opener I see him glance across and away. He can’t see me, because he can’t address me. I offer to open his beer, he’s grateful yet mumbles in an embarrassed way. He cannot address me, so he cannot thank me.

I cannot be named out loud, I cannot be addressed. Like a devil I am unnameable.

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