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Tim's sucking down whiskey sours at a ratio
of 2 to 1 faster than me. A
reflection of the late afternoon sun catches my eye, making me squint. Apparently it makes Tim thirsty. It's that quiet time of day, when the
lunch crowd is gone and the nightlife hasn't started. In a few hours, this patio will be
flooded with frat boys, hippies, and girls in halter tops. If we're lucky, be hippie girls in
halter tops will step through the door.
At least we can always hope. We have
standing orders for drinks after work on Thursdays, usually at a place called
Tino's just down the block from the office. We usually bump into people one of us knows and spend an
hour or two posturing and swapping meaningless stories. This afternoon, Tim OPENED the door
to my office and suggested something different. "First
warm day of the year, you know what happens in a college town, right?" "What
are you talking about?" "You
know how the girls shed their clothes like a... like a... come on, help me
with the imagery here." "Like
a molting snake?" I knew
that someday it would truly pay to enrich my word power.
"Yeah. The girls
shed their clothes like a molting snake. You can practically follow the trail down to the bars." A smile spread across his face with
that thought, "There's a whole different vibe in the air, man. A whole different vibe." "You
mean even you might be able to score, just because the thermometer went over
60? I guess even a stopped clock
is right twice a day." And for
that, the first round was on me.
And Tim's second, because he said that since I was still on my first,
then his second didn't really count as a second round. "A one-point-five, if
anything," he said. Funny
how he's a Bud man when he's buying; it's mixed drinks when it's on me. Mistake #1
This choice of watering holes is convenient to the university crowd,
because they are often on foot.
It is decidedly inconvenient to me, because it's across town and I
won't need to walk home. Letting
Tim talk me into this place was the first mistake. She
appeared on the patio at five minutes after 7 o'clock. Birkenstocks on her feet, her hair
pulled up into a mint green bandana.
A denim skirt and halter top completed the get-up, and as soon as I saw
her, I knew that if Tim saw her, it was all over. I tried to figure out a way to avoid it, but even before I
could smell her jasmine perfume, I knew it was too late. "Miss,
can I get another whiskey sour?" Tim's empty glass waving in the air. "I don't work here." [That would have shattered anyone
else's ego.] "Oh.
[3-count pause] How about I get
you a drink, then? [Without
waiting for her to answer] You keep my boy company, I'll be right
back." Nancy clipped
her sunglasses to her purse and made small talk for about 10 minutes waiting
for Tim to return with a pitcher of whiskey sour - a handful of cherries
littered the bottom. He explains
that they didn't sell it by the pitcher, but "they do now!" He settles into his chair and pours
three.
"Here's to molting snakes, eh?" We touch glasses and I wonder why I let him talk me into
coming here. He and Nancy seemed
to hit it off quickly enough. It
turned out that they had gone to the same high school back east, although by the
time Nancy started the 11th grade, Tim had left town and was in his second
year of grad school. They
knew a lot of the same people, and the same hangouts. Some things never change. Hearing about the small town where
they came from sort of shattered my image of Tim as a teenage rebel. The
people change, but the places rarely keep up. Just like in this college town where the kids are always
the same age, going to the same places.
Mistake #2 - By the time the juke box was pumping out the
Allman Brothers, the stars were out.
The first warm night of spring is always a surprise to me, so I didn't
mind sitting back and listening to murmur of voices. While Tim and Nancy were, I signaled
to Tim, "I'm going to see a man about a horse." Letting Tim out of my sight for those
7 minutes was mistake #2. When I came
back to the table, the jukebox was done with the Allman Brothers, and
Tim? No, of course no Tim. Nancy? Nope. I filled
my glass from the pitcher and made the best of the next half hour as the
jukebox blared a not-too-current-but-still-overplayed blend of Hootie and the
Blowfish & Blues Traveler. Half an
hour later, I decided it was time to call it a night. Tim was no where in the bar, although
he did leave an unpaid tab with my name on it. "Not a problem," I always say, "I have lots
of money." Two blocks down
the road, I found our empty parking space, just as I remembered that Tim
drove. Forty-five minutes later, I am $15
poorer, but at home. When the
phone rings, it's 12:58, and the caller ID tells me that it's Tim. I'm old enough to know that mistake
#3 would be answering that call. _________ |
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Jack Mackerel is a native of New Zealand, but can be
found nearly anywhere there is cold saltwater. |
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