Bottoms Up

The guy across from me on the train this morning was drinking a beer.
Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should point out that I'm not usually coming in to work before the sun is up, or even with that over-eager/-dressed crowd of Financial District folk. But, generally speaking, I do aim for getting to the office before lunch, and, by default, well before any acceptable happy hour.
He wasn't homeless (appearing, anyway), and he wasn't drunk (acting, anyway). There really wasn't anything particularly interesting about him at all, except for the beer.
He clearly wasn't ashamed, as said beer was right on his lap for any straggling commuter to see - not even a paper bag for discretion's sake.
Obviously, for him, a pre-ten-a.m. beer was just how he needed to start the day. Like a good stretch. Or a gulp of orange juice, with a kick and a bit of an aftertaste.
It made me sad.
You're probably waiting for the joke, since I am a sarcastic, kind of mean-spirited person.
But, sincerely, it made me feel sad.
This wasn't a celebratory beer. Last Saturday was the St. Patricks Day festival in Hoboken, and there was a LOT of
mid-morning beer being consumed. That was a little immature, but it wasn't sad. By the end of the night it was grossly immature, but still -- not sad. Annoying, for us of a certain age. Not sad.
Is life so hard right now that the only way to even get moving is to get numb?
It's Tuesday. It's March. That means the toughest day of the week is done for a few more days, and the toughest part of the year is as well.
I thought maybe it was because of the economy... a recession beer. (Because isn't the economy a perfectly convenient scapegoat for every bad attitude and behavior these days.) But then I thought, well that's just silly. Beer is really expensive around here. And this wasn't a Pabst or anything. It wasn't even a can. This was good, bottled stuff. So it's tough to justify by means of financial depression.
I don't know why I'm trying to justify it anyway. He didn't make me drink it. He didn't spill any of it on me. I just tend to be overly concerned with things that aren't any of my business.
Come to think of it, there's not even a point -- or a conclusion, really -- to this story.
I just wish I knew his story. Or, I wish I knew his story was a happy one.