Post by aviis on Jul 10, 2010 20:54:15 GMT -5
It was not my fault. They brought me over and they knew what would happen. Wishful thinking, huh? Well, I stopped believing in ol’ Jiminy once I found out that crickets can’t really talk. Their youthful optimism is no concern of mine, and once I finish these next three margaritas, I guarantee very little will be of concern besides my blood alcohol content.
I walked into the bar a couple of hours ago with the same reservations I’ve had for the past four months. Would she be here? How best to angle my seat at the bar so I’m not forced to look at her unfortunate face? Despite the callous person I may seem to be, anybody who really knew me would attest to the fact that I really do try my hardest to avoid trouble. And I tried tonight. See, I’m not one of those people who require company at a bar. I would prefer my New York Times crossword puzzle and headphones to anything else, and be it Monday morning at my breakfast table or Friday night in public, I behave accordingly. So, when a couple of old friends asked me to join their booth, a mere second of forethought would have reminded them that my last effective social interaction occurred in 3rd grade.
But oh no.
Not a chance.
So, packing away my gear, I headed over to their booth. Never would it have occurred to me that that booth was theirs. She was sitting in it. Why were they leading me anywhere near her, or anyone that looked like her, anyone who might share the same ancestry as her? Some institutional buildings have a panic button; I have one on my person. And it had gone off. However, if I just kept walking straight, someone would undoubtedly criticize my motor skills and I would end up having to return to the table just to prove I didn’t need to be cut off. So, I sat.
There is one thing to be said about my friends, and that is, they consider themselves to be clever people. So, one by one, they slid into the booth, smashing me in the middle, opposite her. Really? What major wars have ever been negotiated through footsie? Sighing, I settled between Brutus and Benedict and pulled their drinks in front of me. If they were going to force me into this, they were going to foot the bill.
Max begun.
“So, what have you been up to? We haven’t seen you in so long.”
I looked across the table at him. The encouraging expression on his face faltered, and I think he may have closed his legs just a tiny bit. He couldn’t see my knees, but his balls were in perfect viewing range.
“I’ve been fine.”
“Yeah? That’s good.”
Sarah cut in.
“How’s work?”
“It’s fine. And your job?”
Sarah hesitated. Clearly, she’d used all of her brainpower to launch this batshit plan, so she was having trouble thinking on her feet.
“Good – good!”
The voice to my left was Chris. He cleared his throat. Didn’t want to be here, I’m sure. Wanted to be sitting next to my elbow even less. Still, he fingered the napkin in front of him and managed a platitude.
“You should come to the barbecue tomorrow. There will be food. Your favorite.”
I almost laughed. They could do all the planning in the world, but until they learned to give him a script, they would consistently fall short of greatness.
Jack started to speak.
“So –”
I looked at him and he stopped.
Best idea you’ve had all night, Jack.
For a while, the six of us basked in awkward tension. I drank, ordered some more drinks, drank some more. As a disclaimer for the rest of the night’s events, I would like to point out that I am actually much friendlier when I’m intoxicated.
Twenty minutes or so passed before another word was spoken.
It was her.
“I’m glad to see you.”
Now, it may be convincing to read that comment as a meaningful gesture that would break down my hardened exterior and have me weeping for all the times we could have been painting each others nails and watching Hugh Grant movies. False. That “I’m glad to see you” is what the witch said when Hansel and Gretel came to her house, what Hannibal Lecter said to Clarice, what the Cheshire Cat said before everything but his fucking head disappeared. And like all of those historical turning points, this is where the main character says “HOLY SHIT, I AM NOT PREPARED FOR THIS” and either runs for the hills or gets their skull turned into a soup bowl. However, that is because they are afraid. I was not afraid. I was pissed.
“Don’t talk to me.”
Of course, everyone at the table sighed, shaking their heads, mumbling ‘Come on, man’. And encouraged by their support, she had the nerve to try again.
“Listen, I just want to say – ”
And the dam broke.
“I don’t care what you want to say. On the list of things I care about, ‘what you want to say’ was crossed out and replaced by ‘most popular Latvian board games between 1350 and 1422 AD’. I don’t like you. I never did like you. You have a car, and when we are in public, I look hot by comparison. End of story. And now that I know you’re a heartless bitch, I like you a negative amount. I would just say that I hate you, but I’d like to highlight how far you’ve fallen. You are a sallow-faced, crunchy-haired, snaggle-toothed nothing, and every time I see you, I get a little nauseous. You can fuck my exes, infiltrate my group of friends, and wear as much makeup as can’t help you, because you will never be me. You will always be an imitation. There’s one huge difference between you and I: this is the best that you can get. I have chosen this place and these people, whereas they just so happen to be the only people non-confrontational and weak-willed enough to keep talking to you after what you did to me, after you betrayed me, and in spite of what you will inevitably to do everyone you know. You are a lonely, pathetic, selfish, attention seeking whore, and you will always be just that, because any self-respecting guy who actually finds out how many people you’ve been under, provided he has taken at least one high-school level health class, would rather put his penis in a blender. No wonder you’re an orphan. If I’d given birth to you, I would have developed a drinking problem too.”
I found this to be a satisfactory parting line, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, she took this opportunity to struggle her way out of the booth alongside me, mumbling something about ‘taking this outside’.
I laughed.
“Haven’t you gotten arrested enough? What, is the third time really the charm?”
She stood there, fuming and on the verge of tears. Boo hoo. Bloobidy bloobidy hoo. Turning on her cheap Payless heels, she left the bar, undoubtedly slowing down once she passed the window so her soft-spined admirers could catch up and offer their condolences.
Apparently, she’d have to wait a minute.
They were all glaring at me.
All four of them.
Disapproving, with what kind of a horrible person are you smeared across their faces.
I rolled my eyes.
“What did you think I was going to say?”
I walked into the bar a couple of hours ago with the same reservations I’ve had for the past four months. Would she be here? How best to angle my seat at the bar so I’m not forced to look at her unfortunate face? Despite the callous person I may seem to be, anybody who really knew me would attest to the fact that I really do try my hardest to avoid trouble. And I tried tonight. See, I’m not one of those people who require company at a bar. I would prefer my New York Times crossword puzzle and headphones to anything else, and be it Monday morning at my breakfast table or Friday night in public, I behave accordingly. So, when a couple of old friends asked me to join their booth, a mere second of forethought would have reminded them that my last effective social interaction occurred in 3rd grade.
But oh no.
Not a chance.
So, packing away my gear, I headed over to their booth. Never would it have occurred to me that that booth was theirs. She was sitting in it. Why were they leading me anywhere near her, or anyone that looked like her, anyone who might share the same ancestry as her? Some institutional buildings have a panic button; I have one on my person. And it had gone off. However, if I just kept walking straight, someone would undoubtedly criticize my motor skills and I would end up having to return to the table just to prove I didn’t need to be cut off. So, I sat.
There is one thing to be said about my friends, and that is, they consider themselves to be clever people. So, one by one, they slid into the booth, smashing me in the middle, opposite her. Really? What major wars have ever been negotiated through footsie? Sighing, I settled between Brutus and Benedict and pulled their drinks in front of me. If they were going to force me into this, they were going to foot the bill.
Max begun.
“So, what have you been up to? We haven’t seen you in so long.”
I looked across the table at him. The encouraging expression on his face faltered, and I think he may have closed his legs just a tiny bit. He couldn’t see my knees, but his balls were in perfect viewing range.
“I’ve been fine.”
“Yeah? That’s good.”
Sarah cut in.
“How’s work?”
“It’s fine. And your job?”
Sarah hesitated. Clearly, she’d used all of her brainpower to launch this batshit plan, so she was having trouble thinking on her feet.
“Good – good!”
The voice to my left was Chris. He cleared his throat. Didn’t want to be here, I’m sure. Wanted to be sitting next to my elbow even less. Still, he fingered the napkin in front of him and managed a platitude.
“You should come to the barbecue tomorrow. There will be food. Your favorite.”
I almost laughed. They could do all the planning in the world, but until they learned to give him a script, they would consistently fall short of greatness.
Jack started to speak.
“So –”
I looked at him and he stopped.
Best idea you’ve had all night, Jack.
For a while, the six of us basked in awkward tension. I drank, ordered some more drinks, drank some more. As a disclaimer for the rest of the night’s events, I would like to point out that I am actually much friendlier when I’m intoxicated.
Twenty minutes or so passed before another word was spoken.
It was her.
“I’m glad to see you.”
Now, it may be convincing to read that comment as a meaningful gesture that would break down my hardened exterior and have me weeping for all the times we could have been painting each others nails and watching Hugh Grant movies. False. That “I’m glad to see you” is what the witch said when Hansel and Gretel came to her house, what Hannibal Lecter said to Clarice, what the Cheshire Cat said before everything but his fucking head disappeared. And like all of those historical turning points, this is where the main character says “HOLY SHIT, I AM NOT PREPARED FOR THIS” and either runs for the hills or gets their skull turned into a soup bowl. However, that is because they are afraid. I was not afraid. I was pissed.
“Don’t talk to me.”
Of course, everyone at the table sighed, shaking their heads, mumbling ‘Come on, man’. And encouraged by their support, she had the nerve to try again.
“Listen, I just want to say – ”
And the dam broke.
“I don’t care what you want to say. On the list of things I care about, ‘what you want to say’ was crossed out and replaced by ‘most popular Latvian board games between 1350 and 1422 AD’. I don’t like you. I never did like you. You have a car, and when we are in public, I look hot by comparison. End of story. And now that I know you’re a heartless bitch, I like you a negative amount. I would just say that I hate you, but I’d like to highlight how far you’ve fallen. You are a sallow-faced, crunchy-haired, snaggle-toothed nothing, and every time I see you, I get a little nauseous. You can fuck my exes, infiltrate my group of friends, and wear as much makeup as can’t help you, because you will never be me. You will always be an imitation. There’s one huge difference between you and I: this is the best that you can get. I have chosen this place and these people, whereas they just so happen to be the only people non-confrontational and weak-willed enough to keep talking to you after what you did to me, after you betrayed me, and in spite of what you will inevitably to do everyone you know. You are a lonely, pathetic, selfish, attention seeking whore, and you will always be just that, because any self-respecting guy who actually finds out how many people you’ve been under, provided he has taken at least one high-school level health class, would rather put his penis in a blender. No wonder you’re an orphan. If I’d given birth to you, I would have developed a drinking problem too.”
I found this to be a satisfactory parting line, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, she took this opportunity to struggle her way out of the booth alongside me, mumbling something about ‘taking this outside’.
I laughed.
“Haven’t you gotten arrested enough? What, is the third time really the charm?”
She stood there, fuming and on the verge of tears. Boo hoo. Bloobidy bloobidy hoo. Turning on her cheap Payless heels, she left the bar, undoubtedly slowing down once she passed the window so her soft-spined admirers could catch up and offer their condolences.
Apparently, she’d have to wait a minute.
They were all glaring at me.
All four of them.
Disapproving, with what kind of a horrible person are you smeared across their faces.
I rolled my eyes.
“What did you think I was going to say?”
