rambling –
verb, 1. to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion
fiction –
noun, 1. a literary work based on the imagination and not necessarily on fact
It’s 4:35pm on a Thursday, which means the dreadful meeting I just left went 35 minutes over its scheduled time. Fitting, given the fact that the rest of this week has gone no better. A glimmer of hope exists because tomorrow is Friday, and I’m thinking to myself that an ice-cold beer would be awfully good right now. As I leave the office, I realize it is pouring rain outside. “Just perfect”, I think to myself as I make the long walk to my car with no umbrella or anything else to keep me dry. As I enter the on-ramp to the freeway for my 40 minute commute home, I realize two things, 1) my windows are fogging up, likely because my shirt, pants and hair are soaking wet, and 2) traffic is completely backed up, which means I’ll have a longer than normal ride home. Again, fitting for the miserable week that it has been so far.
As I near my house, I pass by the local tavern. Almost as if it was on autopilot and attracted to neon signs, my car suddenly veers into the parking lot. I make my way to the bar entrance, and upon walking in, notice that the place is packed for 5:30pm on a Thursday. There is one empty barstool tucked way in the corner, which I’ve sat in once or twice before. The red vinyl seat cover is ripped on this stool, and it is set on the most unleveled portion of the entire bar floor. “Just perfect” I think to myself as I proceed to sit down on it anyway. Karen, the regular bartender, comes over and asks me what I’ll have, to which I quickly answer, “I’d love a Lite beer from Miller.” Now I suspect that there are probably millions upon millions of Miller Lite’s hanging out in breweries, warehouses, tavern coolers, liquor stores and peoples homes at any given moment in time, but this particular one that Karen gives me is special. This is
thee Miller Lite that I’ve been thinking about, over and over again, since my first dreadful meeting at 10am this morning. At this point, it has become a coveted paragon of liquid refreshment, worthy only of kings and noble men. And as I tilt my head back, letting this gloriously cool creation of water and hops caress the back of my parched throat, I catch a glimpse of an amazingly attractive woman across the bar from me.
“Well, that’s unusual” I think to myself. Not in any way to be disrespectful of the establishment I’m in, especially given the fact that I’m a regular patron, but amazingly attractive woman usually don’t come into a place like this. As I put my beer down on the bar, I immediately notice that she’s completely busted me staring at her intently. I quickly look away, the way most of us do when we are caught staring. As I make a second pass of a glance towards her, I notice she is still looking at me, but this time she is smiling. I get real nervous, and try to exchange some small talk with Karen, but she is too busy for me. I pretend to enjoy the song playing on the jukebox, but it’s Bob Seger singing “Old Time Rock and Roll”, a song I completely detest. Luckily, that song ends, and is followed by a live version of Neil Young’s “Hurricane”, which is quit fitting for the moment. I bum a smoke from Karen, and she lights it for me. As I’m trying to hide behind the smoke wall I am producing, I again glance over at the beauty across from me. She’s well dressed, sitting all alone and drinking a Mountain Dew, which just adds to her mystery. Again, she catches me looking at her, and flashes that smile at me once again. This time, I smile back as our eyes lock for a moment.
A minute or so later, I notice the woman get up from her stool, gather her things and start to head towards the exit. But instead of exiting, she walks around the bar and heads in my direction, staring at me the entire time. Her walk is sultry, and even the other bar patrons are watching to see what happens next. As she gets within a couple feet of me, she pulls her keys from her pocket, and slowly lifts them towards me as if to incline that I should take them. With a look of pure amazement, I take the keys from her, and she leans in closer towards me. Not sure what to expect, I just sit there like a statue, uncertain of what I should do. At that moment, she pulls her lips up close to my ear and says to me, “Here are the truck keys. I want to take the car to my appointment. The kids are at the neighbors, and you need to get them by 6 o’clock. They both need bathes tonight. Oh, and by the way, we’re out of milk. Sorry your meeting ran late, hon.” She then kisses me on the cheek, and tells me she’ll see me later when she gets home. Bewildered, I smile, and can only muster up a simple “okay” as a response to her as she grabs my car keys off the bar and heads towards the exit. A few minutes later, I’m finishing off the last sip of my precious one beer, while Neil Young is bending h
is last note of his guitar solo over and over again. I say bye to Karen, leave the bar, and head to go get the kids from the neighbors. And as I do, I think to myself, “Well, maybe this week isn’t so bad after all”.
<b>Sleep - those little slices of death, how I loathe them.</b> ~Edgar Allen Poe
