|
August 14-19
August 14, 2004 3:30pm
So last night I am quietly sitting at home reading a book. The phone rings and I yell for my roomate Seamus to get it. He succedes in doing what many have done before, but he does it better. He is not at home. So I drag myself out of the comfortable chair, carefully mark the spot in my book, walk over to the phone, and wait for the answering machine to get it. The answering machine answers. No one speaks. Not wanting this to happen again, i grab the phone and set it next to the comfortable chair so i will not have to get up. Ten minutes later, the phone rings. Once, twice, three times. I feel like this will reach four. It does. The machine again does its job. It answers. No one speaks. I am mad. I have lost my place in my book and I have to pee. This night has gone to hell.
I get up, do my buisness, grab a beer, and sit down once more. The phone rings. Dammit. This time the machine is dissappointed. It does not get to do its job. I do its job. I answer the phone.
"Tom's house of psychics. We Know," I say in my most polite voice.
"Elliot?," a sexy voice says. A sexy, female voice.
"Yeah, do I know you?" I say.
"Bye," the sexy, female voice says.
"Bye," says I.
Chalk one down for the Master of the Puppetry that is Love. She's gonna call back. She needs consoling because her boyfriend is out of town, her grandmother is sick, her car broke down, her dog died, and they were out of Snickers at the gas station. This girl had problems and I was the answer. I wait, but she has moved on. Man-hater.
Seamus comes in dressed in a kilt, carring a sword and a sheild, war paint on his face. He looks like the world's biggest four year old going to war.
"Damn, that was fun. I'm goin' to bed," he says with no explanation. But when you run around in a kilt all day, I guess you do get tired. So I sent him to his room with a wave and a nod, and went to take another pee. To be continued...
August 16, 2004 7:28pm
Jumping ahead just a little, I am standing in the middle of my living room, kinda drunk. Okay, very drunk... And holding the phone... Okay, by this time I had dropped the phone and was kinda staring at it wondering what in the world kinda night I was having.
Let's jump back a little now. I am sitting on the couch eating cheetos, drinking beer, watching Goonies, and wondering what kinda relationship Chunk and Sloth really had behind the scenes when low and behold what happens? The phone rings!
I pick it up, mouth full of yellow fabricated cheezy goodness, and spray yellow particles all over myself while saying, "City morgue. We got the dead folks."
"Help, I am at the bar and I am gonna kick this guy's ASS!!"
"Who the hell is this?" I stammer, a smile playing on my lips.
"Get the hell down here and get my back, man. Dammit!" And the caller hung up.
I was dumbfounded. This was spur of the moment, this was interesting. My buddy needed help. My buddy needed someone who would be there for him in his time of need, who he could depend on to get him out of whatever trouble he had gotten himself into. More importantly, My buddy needed someone who knew who the hell he was. I was not this person. I stood there, about the time we jumped in before, trying to figure out who would want me on there side in a bar fight. To be honest, my bar fight experience comes to that scene in Kickboxer with Van Dam and the movie Roadhouse with Patrick Swayze. I admitted to myself long ago that I was not Van Dam or Pat McSwayze and damn proud of it.
Now that I stood stewing over it, the voice had sounded like Seamus when he had had a few too many, but I could hear him snoring away from his room. I finally concluded that I should wake Seamus up and we should go to the bar, if only to prove the point. Plus, I couldn't drive out the driveway in the state I was in. Seamus stumbled out of his room with but his boxers and war makeup still applied and announced he needed supplies before the bar. I had not even tried to awaken him yet. The bond between roomates is interesting. Moments later he was clothed and had his "supplies" in a brown paper bag and we were headed to the only bar we go to, The Fifty-yard Line. As there are plenty bars and clubs in town, we had only a small chance that the mystery caller meant this bar, but if he had known to call us, then he would know this is the bar we head to. And head off we did...
August 17, 2004 6:35pm
Before we run straight to the bar, I must add a little about the area of town we are about to head off to. Back when the local university was just a fledgling teaching college, one man had a dream. His dream included cheap booze, loud music, and dingy atmosphere. His dream came in the form of the Fifty Yard Line. The Fifty was built to be a bar but became much more. It is a home, a playground, a psychaitry office, and most importantly, a student union with booze. The clientle at the Fifty is basic. A melting pot of individuals has sustained the lasting aroma of years past while adding new, sweet fragrances from coed perfume. It is comfort incarnate, a place to have a beer in a glass mug while attempting to lose a game of pool to the cute girl of your dreams. Bringing a date to the Fifty is like bringing her home, for these people have seen you at your worst and have the pictures to prove it. To protect this fine establishment, there is an establishment all his own, a large gorrilla called Royce and his pal Hulk. Hulk is a little league alumnium baseball bat painted bright green. Royce drilled holes into it to make it just a little less wind resistant. All it managed to do is create a little whistling effect right before Hulk smashes down. The effect is awe inspiring and only has to happen once a football season. Last year it was against the rival Alabama school. Hulk put two dents into an Alabama alumni before the man could even finish his beer. Now, to continue.
Seamus and I walked up to the bar and greeted Royce with a nod and a grin.
"Hey, Royce?" I quickly asked,"You seen anybody trying to fight tonight?"
Royce shook his head, "Naw, Hulk hadn't had any action since that Alabama turd wanted to come in hear and git with Little Man's girl."
Little Man is the present owner of the Fifty. Standing just under 4 ft 6, he can be found serving up burgers, fried cheese sticks, and crab legs from the back kitchen.
We thanked him, walked up to the bar and got some beer. Spotting some people we knew, we crossed the bar and started playing a little pool. About four games and three pitchers of beer in, I had become engrossed in the game and realized that Seamus was not with us. As I looked up through the smoke-filled room, my eyes widened and a feeling of shock came over my face. Every girl in the bar, without exception, had either a balloon animal or a ballon hat with them. to be continued...
August 19, 2004 6:24pm
I scanned the room, looking over a sea of women with brightly colored giraffes, dogs, alligators, and many other wild beasts. A man with a pin could go on safari in this room. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spot Seamus to my left.
He had a rather beautiful young blonde woman sitting at a table in his attention. He was pulling and stretching a ballon, and I could just make out him saying, "So what's your favorite animal, little girl? Do you have a favoite color?"
To her credit, the young woman was playing along, laughing at my roomate's propostion. I cannot at this time remember what her favorite anything was, as I was too shocked to notice.
Now, allow me at this time to report a fact or two about my roomate. He is scared to death of clowns and has more of a fight rather than flight menality. The last time he was within ten feet of a clown, we had to hold him before he beat it savagely. They still will not let us in that McDonald's. So with this phobia, he has developed a little resistance, namely Know Your Enemy. The boy can juggle, prat fall, and as you already know, make balloon animals. He does this to get into the clown's head, to become that which he fears. His fear is deep, as is his dedication to his craft. Before I can blink, he has made this beautiful young woman her balloon hat, stuffed it onto her head, wished her a good evening, and moved on to the next nubile young balloon recipiant.
Suddenly, I have blacked out. The wash of ballons and beer and pool all melt into one and I come out of it just in time to see a face. Seamus's face. He has popped a balloon right next to my face and I am awake now.
"Damn, son. You just flaked out on us. Now eat your food," he says.
I look around and I am in an all night diner, but do not remember getting there. Seamus, two women (both sporting ballons) and I are sitting in a booth, food sitting on the table. I reach for the coffee, drink deep, and look at the hashbrowns and eggs sitting in front of me. The eggs are staring back. I am not hungry. I push them away and get up to go to the bathroom.
"Elliot, are you okay?" the girl next to me asks. Her voice has a husky, familiar sound to it. I could not place it right away, but then it came to me. I stared at her, shocked.
"You called the wrong number," I said.
She looked puzzled, "You okay, Elliot. You look pale, maybe we should get you home."
Seamus coughed at that, "What, no, the night's still young. It's only, what, midnight?"
She looked at Seamus and back to me. All I heard was the voice from the call earlier, and I freaked.
"I need to go home," I said and started for the door.
The girl followed me, catching me by the arm, "Will you at least call when you get home?"
She looked sweet, but I doubted I would remember in my drunken state. I told her so and gave her our number,"Call in one hour, I will be home."
Then I ran out into the night. I never did find out that girl's name.
I heard them calling out to me as I ran out of the diner. One of their balloons popped and I flinched. I needed to get home, in bed and sleep. I ran out to the car, jumped in and cranked the car.
Pulling out onto the main road, I realized I was too drunk to drive, but decided to make it anyway. I manuvered through the traffic and stopped at the first red light a little far under the light. I did not see the Mack truck coming, but I heard the hiss of the gas brakes going on. Then there was a grinding and screeching of metal against metal, but when I looked around, I was fine. It had stopped in time and hit another car. Unfortunately, I thought more about my own DUI than the people in the wreck, and I continued home. I was so drunk, I barely remember the ride there.
August 14, 2004 3:30pm
So last night I am quietly sitting at home reading a book. The phone rings and I yell for my roomate Seamus to get it. He succedes in doing what many have done before, but he does it better. He is not at home. So I drag myself out of the comfortable chair...
|
