I was sitting around the living room with J-Dub and another friend. After a while we realized that Tom wasn't with us so we figured we should probably check on him. He was drunk downtown, so we thought we'd be good pals and go get him. Not J-Dub. Just me and the other guy. His name is Kyle but I call him K-Bone sometimes. Anyway, we agreed to meet at the sandwich shop I work at, which is in the bar district, open late, and pretty much caters to the demographic that Tom found himself in that evening. We found Tom drunkenly enjoying a pita. A pretty girl touched my beard out of admiration, which provided me with positive reinforcement. The guy working there said something about Tom being fine "as long as he doesn't spill his guts all over the floor." To Tom, this warranted grabbing a table and using it almost like a saw across his stomach. "What the fuck are you doing?" I asked. "Trying to spill my guts." He explained. It looked pretty much like he was humping the table, but he believed he was expressing himself, so more power to him. In the car, he said he thought he needed to puke. I rolled down his window and kept driving. He cocked his head to the side and exorcised his demons.
"You completely missed the outside of the car." I said.
"I know. I'm sorry."
He kept puking and I tried to take pictures with my cellphone but the memory was full.
"I'm sorry. I did my best." He explained.
"Well, if you did your best, I can't really be mad." And I wasn't.
I drove around with the windows down for the five days until he got around to cleaning it. It really only smelled bad for the first few minutes of the commute, then the smell of burning oil would usually be strong enough to somewhat mask it.
There's this counter at work that the bosses stand behind to do boss stuff. Today, the cranky supervisor that I don't do so well with was back there doing boss stuff and I was back there doing subordinate stuff. She's been nicer to me lately now that I've been there a little longer and am not completely incapable of doing my job, as was the case for the months when she was real bitchy. For some reason, she thinks I forgot how many shitty things she said to me and that we're tight by default just because she hasn't seen me fuck up in a while. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that she believes the shit I say to her even though I'm pretty much always taking advantage of her social ineptitude.
So we were behind the counter and a Fed Ex lady walked up with a cell phone. They made some small talk, and I was barely paying attention, but I managed to gather that the Fed Ex lady found the phone in the parking lot and was turning it in to the lost and found. The supervisor lady, who is my age, thanked her and the Fed Ex lady left. "Did you hear that?" The sup' asked. "She was all like, 'Hey, you...' like we were old friends or something, but I've never seen her before." I paused for a second to assess my opening and decided it was big enough, so I shot back with, "Well...yeah. You know, pretty much all the ladies working Fed Ex, UPS, Postal Service or any of that are lesbians."
"What, really?" I had her.
"Yeah." I continued. "It's, like, an unspoken thing."
"But I'm not a lesbian!" She was visably uncomfortable.
"And you dress like that?" I said dryly, making things worse for her and better for me, the way they ought to be.
She looked at her feet and followed her frame North with her eyes until her head evened back out, looking forward. She wanted to defend herself. "You've never seen the way I dress when I'm not here! This is just for work." She kind of trailed off and I kept going.
"Well, that shirt's kinda baggy and not really form fitting, ya know? And those pants are just...well...I'm just saying, I could see how she'd get the wrong impression."
She looked adequately conquered, plus I could tell my straight face only had a few seconds left, so I calmly went in the backroom before laughing my ass off. I later over heard her explaining to someone "Yeah, so the Fed Ex lady was totally hitting on me earlier. It was really violating." In her clueless voice, complete with an ambiguous lisp. To me, it was a large psychological victory, which perhaps means I'm too sheltered lately, but even so, it was all that got me through another day.
really old months: