Betsey conjures up the character of Sam, the real Owner of Bloody Mary’s Bar, in order to confront him about this ridiculous ongoing situation that really needs to end.
Betsey: Sam, I’ve called you here today because there is something I want to discuss with you. I can’t talk to you in real life because I am very shy and awkward in your presence. I don’t feel like I can be my usual self when I am around you. The words just are not there. So here we are.
Sam: I am very angry at you.
Betsey: I know you are, but I need you to hear me out. I am really tired of this situation. This entire thing is completely unnecessary. I just don’t understand why we can’t all get along. I’m not a threat to you. I’m not a threat to any of you. I’m not even writing those stories anymore. I’ve moved on to other projects. I’m sorry for things that were said or done in the past, but I’ve moved past all of that now.
Sam: I’ve told you a hundred times not to come around anymore. Why don’t you listen?
Betsey: Because I don’t understand why. I’m sorry, but I seriously do not understand why. Every time I ask, I get a different answer. I’ve never actually been given a legitimate reason for this, yet you seem to continue escalating things for no apparent reason. You say that I am a threat to you, but that isn’t who I am. I am not a physically violent person. I would never attack someone, especially a child. It’s ridiculous that you would even say that considering I literally have more experience raising a child than you do. Spoiler Alert: She turned out amazing and she is nowhere near as messed up as I am! That aside, I wish you would stop labeling me as this crazy, violent, delusional individual that you need to be afraid of. It really hurts my feelings when you say messed up shit like that about me. It really, really, REALLY HURTS my feelings. That’s not who I am! I’m a writer! I’ve always been a writer. I always will be a writer. I just so happen to like to write at your bar.
Sam: Well I don’t want you writing at my bar.
Betsey: Why not?
Sam: Because I just don’t.
Betsey: Well, I’m sorry but I can’t understand that. I really can’t. That’s not a reason. I honestly think you have blown this entire thing way too far out of proportion. I have never once thought about hurting you or anyone else. I was just venting anger in my writing. Besides, we don’t even really know each other. The way I remember it, I used to come in during the day and sit in the either the back room or the patio and just write my little stories. Then I would take a break to play Jeopardy or wait for Mad Dog to come along. You and I never really talked. There was some confusion over Andrew for awhile that actually made me start avoiding you like the plague. I remain completely unconvinced that you and him are the same person. He has definitely become his own entity at this point. But he’s not you. He’s a Tulpa I made to help me write romance novels. I am a romance writer. I’ve always been a romance writer. I will continue to be a romance writer. It’s not that big of a deal.
Sam: Well, I-
Betsey: Look, I’m sorry for all of this unnecessary bullshit and negativity. But it’s not coming from me at this point. I love Bloody Mary’s Bar. It is my inspiration. It’s my story and they are my characters. You will never take that from me. It is what it is. So, I just can’t understand why you continue to act like my writing is some big threat to you when I’m clearly not an actual threat to you. What has happened to you since I started writing it? Nothing. You still have everything you had before. Nothing changed for you. At all. Your life was not ruined. So why do you keep freaking out over it?
Betsey: To be honest, I thought the way you acted last night was completely unnecessary. I seriously did not think you were going to lose your shit on me like that. I literally wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was just sitting there writing in my notebook. I wasn’t even writing about the bar. I was trying to come up with names for my new blog. It literally has nothing to do with anything or anyone in this town, by the way. I mean, I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that for a moment I actually sat back and thought to myself, “This is perfect. Just like old times. I’m feeling so inspired again. God I love this bar.” And you rolled up in your fucking Douchemobile and just started screaming at me. It’s actually kind of funny when I look back on it now. I couldn’t hear a word you were saying over the radio. You just looked like a deranged lunatic driving by screaming at me like that. And then to call the cops on me and have them drag me off like that? Because I was sitting there writing in my notebook? COME ON! That was so unnecessary! Just SO COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY! Maybe I would take you and your “No Trespassing Order” more seriously if I had an understanding of why it is there. But I don’t. I just think you’re overreacting to an old story at this point. It doesn’t really make any sense to me at all.
Sam: You were making up stories about fucking me!
Betsey: Actually, I wasn’t. I was writing smut about a fictional character for a romance novel I was trying to write. Like I said, I don’t think Andrew and you are the same person. I have never told anyone you and I had a relationship of any kind. I’ve had random people I’ve never met tell me they heard we dated and I politely correct them every single time. I say, “No, we never dated. I barely know him. I’ve only ever talked to him a handful of times.” It’s not what you think. So, as I said, I don’t understand why you continue overreacting this way when one five minute conversation could have settled this entire ordeal years ago without any of this other shit getting involved. It’s like you’re trying to make it so much harder than it needs to be.
Sam: Well, you threatened my employees.
Betsey: That wasn’t actually my intention, but I’ve already had a private conversation about it with him. I apologized and he accepted my apology. Now we are on the same page. I would like the same for us, but you keep trying to label me something I’m not. That shit is not going to fly with me. That’s why I continue to disrespect you and your fake little trespassing order.
Sam: It’s not fake!
Betsey: Well, I think it’s fake. I don’t understand why it’s there. There’s nothing to protect yourself from. You’re making up all of this crazy shit in your head. No one cares about your real life, dude. I’m very busy and important. I’ve been on four trips in the last year. I went to Paris! I was at a writing workshop honing my skillz! And you know what else? I’ve dated two different guys, hooked up with a chick in Paris, and went on a couple dates in New Orleans. I’ve been working and writing a lot. I’m actually getting ready to move, which I now have to delay because of your stupid fucking bullshit. Way to go on that one, by the way. Now I’ll never leave you alone. Anyway, yeah, I’m a busy person. I don’t really think about you at all. I don’t know why you are obsessed with this idea that I am hiding in your bushes watching your every move. It comes off as kinda delusional and paranoid, to be honest.
Sam: Well… I don’t know what to say.
Betsey: I don’t know what you should say either. It’s been so long since I’ve interacted with you that I’ve forgotten your mannerisms and word choice. The last couple times you’ve just been screaming at me like a fucking lunatic, so I don’t even know if you are actually capable of communicating any other way. You don’t strike me as a rational, clear-headed person at all. At this point I think you’re the crazy one here.
Sam: I see.
Betsey: Yep, so, guess you can finally sleep at night knowing I don’t actually give a shit you exist.
Sam: Then why do you still come around the bar?
Betsey: Because it inspires me to write. I’ve come up with some of my best shit on that bench, and most of it had nothing to do with Bloody Mary’s at all. One time, I sat out on that bench for 45 minutes coming up with my fake name “The Stick Shack.” It was fun! Plus I always go on these long walks around town where I write and I always end them by sitting on the bench to piece together everything in my head. Someone said they feel pity for me when they see me there, but they shouldn’t at all. If you see me sitting there, it means I am writing, and therefore happy. Even if I look pissed off, I’m still happy because I’m writing. And like I said, most of the time it’s not about you. If I do recycle Bloody Mary’s, it will look different than the first version. I have this idea where all the characters in the bar know each other from past lives. It’s actually really cool. I hope I can write it better next time around. The first version was… a little rough, but I also didn’t really know what I was doing at the time. I just wrote what came to me, and what came to me were these amazing characters. I love them. I love them all. I would never hurt any of them. They are my inspiration.
Sam: Hmm. Well. Maybe I will think about it.
Betsey: Please do. I really want to resolve this petty dispute. There’s no reason for it anymore. It’s time for all of us to move on. I am not letting go of my story or my characters. I really like that bar as a writing spot. It gives me good vibes. I absolutely flat-out refuse to compromise on this. I just want you to understand my point of view.
Sam: I will try.
Betsey: I hope so. It can only be beneficial to both of us for you to understand where I’m coming from. I forgive you for what you did to me, Sam. I’m not angry at you. I am just really confused and disappointed that we can’t all just get along. I just want you to know that.
Betsey: Okay. Great. Thanks for the convo. Glad we had it. Hope it all works out. Seriously, dude, please don’t drag this out. I’m about to homeless at the end of July, I can’t move back in with my parents, and I’m due to head back East. I really need us to work this shit out so I can get the fuck out of here ASAP. Savvy?