7/30/13 - "Chapter 3 - Another Day"
Blogger's Note: I wish I wasn't here right now. I'm supposed to be watching the St Louis Cardinals whip up on the Pittsburgh Pirates in an exciting divisional game. But Pittsburgh is currently winning 9-1 in the 8th and, even though I hate giving up on my team, I'm feeling rather nice after a few beers; and, I'd hate to waste a good buzz on an all-but-hopeless endeavor. "Cloud Atlas" arrived in the mail today via Netflix, so I went to the bedroom where my wife was busy breastfeeding Amelia (I think I was jealous) and watching some reality show on NBC. Roman was snoring away beside her. I asked if she'd watch the movie with me, but she said she'd rather watch whatever-it-was she was watching...
I sulked for a brief moment. Leisurely, I meandered to the fridge, aware that I might be trespassing into hangover territory if I maintained my course. Feeling unwilling to negotiate my pleasant mood for sleep, I grabbed another beer and my favorite mug. A soft, gratifying fizz calmed me into a moment of sudden, mental clarity as I drifted smugly into the realization that Hey! I've got some Free Time!
Now, what should I do with this precious Free Time? I could jump on the internet and watch those funny prank videos that I love so much; I could read about some of the latest superhero movie rumors; I could stalk someone on Facebook; or, I could watch some obscure Sci-Fi movie on Netflix that Joanna would never want to watch with me. Or... I could do what anybody likes to do when they're drinking.
I could hang with one of my friends. Perhaps tell a joke. Perhaps a story. Maybe a little more of our "How We Met" story. Maybe I'll throw my arm over your shoulder and offer you a beer and... I'm sorry, what's that? I'm talking too loud? I'm sorry; I tend to do that after I've had a few. I'll try to tone it down. Hang on a sec. I'm gonna turn on Pandora Radio. Do you like Mason Jennings? What's that? You don't know who he is!?! Here let me turn it up...
Hurriedly, I wrapped my apron around my waist and knotted the strings in the front. Clipping my badge so that it hung from my right shoulder, I sat on the mattress that served as my bed so that I could put on my shoes. My brother, Shawn, stepped into the room. "Running late?" he asked with a smile.
"If I get lucky with traffic, I should make it on time." I grunted my struggling shoe over the heel of my foot and stood. "Hey, rent's on the desk," I told him as I grabbed my coat. I'd been renting this room from him for almost two months. He was still reeling from a divorce, and I was still groggy from the party that was my twenties. Moving into his house was only sensible. The cost was much cheaper than the fully-furnished apartment where I had been living, and we kept each other company. I was still working on getting some actual furniture, though.
"I wasn't worried about it," he dismissively walked out of my room to sit at the piano in the living room. "Hey, how do you play a B Minor?"
I opened the front door. A winter chill stung my cheeks. I shuffled into a graceless, Kentucky morning and turned around to close the door. "B, D, and F Sharp," I answered as I pulled the latch. I could hear the chord being played correctly as I jogged to my car.
My car was a 1988 Oldsmobile that still boasted most of a front bumper despite its lack of a grill. A crack reached across the horizon of its windshield, and one of the left-side tires stingily clung to the car's only hubcap. The driver's side door screamed a complaint as I opened it. I kicked a trespassing McDonald's cup towards the pile of rubbish in the passenger side floorboard where it belonged. Some boxes that I had packed when I was moving were still hitchhiking in the back seat.
I pulled out of the driveway and shifted into gear. Ol' Rusty could climb all the way to 55 if the strip was flat or at an incline. It took some time; but, at last, the Oldsmobile was steadily weaving through county roads with a bit more patience than its driver.
When I arrived at the riverboat casino, I still had a couple of minutes to spare. I jogged across the parking lot, over the ramp, and to the time clock where our pre-shift meeting was assembled. Just behind me, the strap of a Transformers backpack was threatening to slip off the shoulder of today's busser Calvin. Wearing an expression of over-acted distress and panting, he re-positioned the strap and then pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back into place.
"Calvin, you ok?" Crystal, this shift's supervisor, addressed the man's dramatic entrance with a smile. Much younger than Rita, Crystal had an easy-going constitution and a pleasant smile which made conversation with her easy -- even for Calvin's awkward social skills. He filed in beside me in the huddle before responding.
"Mm.. like I said.. heh," he began with his trademark, nasally voice. "I was reading about the dragons that were historically associated with Scotland.. and.. hmm.. like I said.. the dragons, now... not the drakes. And, contrary to what the.. heh.. Western world tends to think.. the Scottish dragons didn't just include the Ice Dragons or Cave Dragons. The Red Dragon and even Nessie were.. hmm... like I said.. typically..."
"Ok. So you're ok? Good," Crystal, politely laughing, interrupted what was sure to be a timely lecture on mythology. Facing me, on the other side of the employee circle, Joanna and I exchanged a look. She raised her eyebrows and glanced to the side as if to say, "well... alrighty then..." I smiled back.
Just before Crystal began explaining the day's initiatives and bus schedules, I found I couldn't help myself and interjected. "Calvin.. you ever hear a Muffler Dragon?"
"Hmm.. like I said.. heh.. I know Ember Dragons, Electric Dragons.. there's a Hellfire Wyvern.. heh.. you don't want to run into one of those let me tell you..."
"But you've never heard a Muffler Dragon?" I continued.
"Eh.. no.. I can't say that I've heard of a Muffler Dragon." Calvin looked as if he were torn between being polite to someone who obviously didn't have the same level of dragon knowledge and, just possibly, hearing a branch of dragon lore that he could refute.
"A Muffler Dragon sparks and makes a sound like this..." I made a throaty ckckckckckckck. "It's illegal to have a muffler draggin'. If the law catches you with one, you'll get in trouble."
"Hmm.. I'll have to check on..."
"Ok.. ok... enough dragon talk.." Crystal interrupted the chuckles that had commenced. Smiling herself, she got her morning duties underway. I smiled warmly at Calvin to let him know I was messing with him. I wasn't sure if it registered, though. He looked to be lost in thought.
After the huddle broke, I arrived at our station where Stacey was already busy making tea. "Why are you draggin' today," she asked with a smile.
"My stupid ass thought it'd be a good idea to get some exercise yesterday," I began as I started relocating lemons from the cooler to their place on the cutting board. "I actually jogged two miles which I haven't done in years. Now I'm sore as hell..."
"That's nothing..." A familiar voice crashed through the wall like the Kool-Aid man's arch-nemesis. Stepping through the audible debris soon after, Enrique trudged into the station before continuing. "When I was playing baseball, we had to keep in shape. I jog five miles a day and not even break a sweat."
I squeezed against the table where I was working so he could get to the Mountain Dew. He filled his glass and then waited for the carbonation to settle so he could top it off. Time crawled. Stacey and I remained quiet.
"Someday, if I get the time, I show you how to jog like the pro's do it."
"Mmmm," I responded by stretching my lips horizontally. The pseudo-smile was hurting my face.
Once he left, I started breathing again. Stacey and I got to work on getting the station ready for opening. We talked casually as we usually did. It was just another day.
Later, as the lunch crowd began to dissipate, Crystal approached me. "Hey, Duane, if you get time, could you help roll silverware? We got hit pretty hard during the rush, and we're about to run out."
"Sure," I replied, as I was caught up anyway. I arrived at the silverware-rolling station to find Joanna there, busy rolling.
"What up, white girl?" I announced my arrival with a quirky expression and a cheesy salutation.
"It about time," she sarcastically answered.
As we both got to work, I began to converse. "So, what does a Polish girl do around here for fun?"
"Go to Florida," she resolved.
Unsure if she was joking or not, I continued. "Didn't you just have three days off?"
"Yes. I rent a car. I got back late last night."
"What part of Florida?" I asked, impressed.
"Destin. That's where all of my friends are. There were five of us. All from Poland. When they relocated the students to Metropolis, one of us had to go. I was the lucky one."
"Why you?" I prodded.
"My boss doesn't like me." She didn't smile.
"What? You didn't want to come to the Home of Superman?" I joked. She just looked at me, dumbly.
I picked up the pieces and progressed the conversation. "You all were here before Christmas, right? Did you drive down to Destin for Christmas?"
"No."
"Well, what did you do?"
"I sit in hotel room and drink vodka and cry." Joanna looked away distantly. The Polish girl coughed a chuckle, but my bullshit radar wasn't sounding. I could see by the way she stopped making eye contact that she wasn't joking.
"Have you ever thought about quitting? Maybe going back to Poland?" I asked her seriously.
"Can't. I'm under contract. And, besides, well... I just can't... not yet..."
I decided not to push her any further. We quietly rolled silverware for a few minutes before I spoke my thoughts. "Do you ever hang out with your students?"
"Not too often. They are young and kind of annoying. But, tomorrow's my birthday. We have a ride to Paducah. We are going to Ernie's. Come by and I will buy you a drink." A refreshing smile broke out on her face. I hoped it would stay there.
"It's your birthday; I'll buy you a drink," I responded.
"In Poland, whoever's birthday it is buys the drinks," she explained.
"Oh yeah? Well, you're in America now bitch."
(to be continued...)
Continue our "How We Met" story:
Chapter 4 - The Pollock Joke
Blogger's Note: I wish I wasn't here right now. I'm supposed to be watching the St Louis Cardinals whip up on the Pittsburgh Pirates in an exciting divisional game. But Pittsburgh is currently winning 9-1 in the 8th and, even though I hate giving up on my team, I'm feeling rather nice after a few beers; and, I'd hate to waste a good buzz on an all-but-hopeless endeavor. "Cloud Atlas" arrived in the mail today via Netflix, so I went to the bedroom where my wife was busy breastfeeding Amelia (I think I was jealous) and watching some reality show on NBC. Roman was snoring away beside her. I asked if she'd watch the movie with me, but she said she'd rather watch whatever-it-was she was watching...
I sulked for a brief moment. Leisurely, I meandered to the fridge, aware that I might be trespassing into hangover territory if I maintained my course. Feeling unwilling to negotiate my pleasant mood for sleep, I grabbed another beer and my favorite mug. A soft, gratifying fizz calmed me into a moment of sudden, mental clarity as I drifted smugly into the realization that Hey! I've got some Free Time!
Now, what should I do with this precious Free Time? I could jump on the internet and watch those funny prank videos that I love so much; I could read about some of the latest superhero movie rumors; I could stalk someone on Facebook; or, I could watch some obscure Sci-Fi movie on Netflix that Joanna would never want to watch with me. Or... I could do what anybody likes to do when they're drinking.
I could hang with one of my friends. Perhaps tell a joke. Perhaps a story. Maybe a little more of our "How We Met" story. Maybe I'll throw my arm over your shoulder and offer you a beer and... I'm sorry, what's that? I'm talking too loud? I'm sorry; I tend to do that after I've had a few. I'll try to tone it down. Hang on a sec. I'm gonna turn on Pandora Radio. Do you like Mason Jennings? What's that? You don't know who he is!?! Here let me turn it up...
Hurriedly, I wrapped my apron around my waist and knotted the strings in the front. Clipping my badge so that it hung from my right shoulder, I sat on the mattress that served as my bed so that I could put on my shoes. My brother, Shawn, stepped into the room. "Running late?" he asked with a smile.
"If I get lucky with traffic, I should make it on time." I grunted my struggling shoe over the heel of my foot and stood. "Hey, rent's on the desk," I told him as I grabbed my coat. I'd been renting this room from him for almost two months. He was still reeling from a divorce, and I was still groggy from the party that was my twenties. Moving into his house was only sensible. The cost was much cheaper than the fully-furnished apartment where I had been living, and we kept each other company. I was still working on getting some actual furniture, though.
"I wasn't worried about it," he dismissively walked out of my room to sit at the piano in the living room. "Hey, how do you play a B Minor?"
I opened the front door. A winter chill stung my cheeks. I shuffled into a graceless, Kentucky morning and turned around to close the door. "B, D, and F Sharp," I answered as I pulled the latch. I could hear the chord being played correctly as I jogged to my car.
My car was a 1988 Oldsmobile that still boasted most of a front bumper despite its lack of a grill. A crack reached across the horizon of its windshield, and one of the left-side tires stingily clung to the car's only hubcap. The driver's side door screamed a complaint as I opened it. I kicked a trespassing McDonald's cup towards the pile of rubbish in the passenger side floorboard where it belonged. Some boxes that I had packed when I was moving were still hitchhiking in the back seat.
I pulled out of the driveway and shifted into gear. Ol' Rusty could climb all the way to 55 if the strip was flat or at an incline. It took some time; but, at last, the Oldsmobile was steadily weaving through county roads with a bit more patience than its driver.
When I arrived at the riverboat casino, I still had a couple of minutes to spare. I jogged across the parking lot, over the ramp, and to the time clock where our pre-shift meeting was assembled. Just behind me, the strap of a Transformers backpack was threatening to slip off the shoulder of today's busser Calvin. Wearing an expression of over-acted distress and panting, he re-positioned the strap and then pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back into place.
"Calvin, you ok?" Crystal, this shift's supervisor, addressed the man's dramatic entrance with a smile. Much younger than Rita, Crystal had an easy-going constitution and a pleasant smile which made conversation with her easy -- even for Calvin's awkward social skills. He filed in beside me in the huddle before responding.
"Mm.. like I said.. heh," he began with his trademark, nasally voice. "I was reading about the dragons that were historically associated with Scotland.. and.. hmm.. like I said.. the dragons, now... not the drakes. And, contrary to what the.. heh.. Western world tends to think.. the Scottish dragons didn't just include the Ice Dragons or Cave Dragons. The Red Dragon and even Nessie were.. hmm... like I said.. typically..."
"Ok. So you're ok? Good," Crystal, politely laughing, interrupted what was sure to be a timely lecture on mythology. Facing me, on the other side of the employee circle, Joanna and I exchanged a look. She raised her eyebrows and glanced to the side as if to say, "well... alrighty then..." I smiled back.
Just before Crystal began explaining the day's initiatives and bus schedules, I found I couldn't help myself and interjected. "Calvin.. you ever hear a Muffler Dragon?"
"Hmm.. like I said.. heh.. I know Ember Dragons, Electric Dragons.. there's a Hellfire Wyvern.. heh.. you don't want to run into one of those let me tell you..."
"But you've never heard a Muffler Dragon?" I continued.
"Eh.. no.. I can't say that I've heard of a Muffler Dragon." Calvin looked as if he were torn between being polite to someone who obviously didn't have the same level of dragon knowledge and, just possibly, hearing a branch of dragon lore that he could refute.
"A Muffler Dragon sparks and makes a sound like this..." I made a throaty ckckckckckckck. "It's illegal to have a muffler draggin'. If the law catches you with one, you'll get in trouble."
"Hmm.. I'll have to check on..."
"Ok.. ok... enough dragon talk.." Crystal interrupted the chuckles that had commenced. Smiling herself, she got her morning duties underway. I smiled warmly at Calvin to let him know I was messing with him. I wasn't sure if it registered, though. He looked to be lost in thought.
After the huddle broke, I arrived at our station where Stacey was already busy making tea. "Why are you draggin' today," she asked with a smile.
"My stupid ass thought it'd be a good idea to get some exercise yesterday," I began as I started relocating lemons from the cooler to their place on the cutting board. "I actually jogged two miles which I haven't done in years. Now I'm sore as hell..."
"That's nothing..." A familiar voice crashed through the wall like the Kool-Aid man's arch-nemesis. Stepping through the audible debris soon after, Enrique trudged into the station before continuing. "When I was playing baseball, we had to keep in shape. I jog five miles a day and not even break a sweat."
I squeezed against the table where I was working so he could get to the Mountain Dew. He filled his glass and then waited for the carbonation to settle so he could top it off. Time crawled. Stacey and I remained quiet.
"Someday, if I get the time, I show you how to jog like the pro's do it."
"Mmmm," I responded by stretching my lips horizontally. The pseudo-smile was hurting my face.
Once he left, I started breathing again. Stacey and I got to work on getting the station ready for opening. We talked casually as we usually did. It was just another day.
Later, as the lunch crowd began to dissipate, Crystal approached me. "Hey, Duane, if you get time, could you help roll silverware? We got hit pretty hard during the rush, and we're about to run out."
"Sure," I replied, as I was caught up anyway. I arrived at the silverware-rolling station to find Joanna there, busy rolling.
"What up, white girl?" I announced my arrival with a quirky expression and a cheesy salutation.
"It about time," she sarcastically answered.
As we both got to work, I began to converse. "So, what does a Polish girl do around here for fun?"
"Go to Florida," she resolved.
Unsure if she was joking or not, I continued. "Didn't you just have three days off?"
"Yes. I rent a car. I got back late last night."
"What part of Florida?" I asked, impressed.
"Destin. That's where all of my friends are. There were five of us. All from Poland. When they relocated the students to Metropolis, one of us had to go. I was the lucky one."
"Why you?" I prodded.
"My boss doesn't like me." She didn't smile.
"What? You didn't want to come to the Home of Superman?" I joked. She just looked at me, dumbly.
I picked up the pieces and progressed the conversation. "You all were here before Christmas, right? Did you drive down to Destin for Christmas?"
"No."
"Well, what did you do?"
"I sit in hotel room and drink vodka and cry." Joanna looked away distantly. The Polish girl coughed a chuckle, but my bullshit radar wasn't sounding. I could see by the way she stopped making eye contact that she wasn't joking.
"Have you ever thought about quitting? Maybe going back to Poland?" I asked her seriously.
"Can't. I'm under contract. And, besides, well... I just can't... not yet..."
I decided not to push her any further. We quietly rolled silverware for a few minutes before I spoke my thoughts. "Do you ever hang out with your students?"
"Not too often. They are young and kind of annoying. But, tomorrow's my birthday. We have a ride to Paducah. We are going to Ernie's. Come by and I will buy you a drink." A refreshing smile broke out on her face. I hoped it would stay there.
"It's your birthday; I'll buy you a drink," I responded.
"In Poland, whoever's birthday it is buys the drinks," she explained.
"Oh yeah? Well, you're in America now bitch."
(to be continued...)
Continue our "How We Met" story:
Chapter 4 - The Pollock Joke
1 comment:
not sure if i should be worried or honored that you used my real name....
your writing is beautiful, however.
i can't wait to read more.
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