Monica and Chandler have only met once, at Thanksgiving. Chandler never came back the second year to see Monica when she was thin. Chandler and Joey are roommates. Monica and Rachel are roommates. Phoebe and Ross hang out with Rachel and Monica, not with Joey and Chandler. Lemme know if you wanna archive this… if and before you do. Cheerz.
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"Hit me again, buddy." the man said, slamming his shot glass down on the bar counter.
"That is your eighth one tonight. Don't you think you've had enough?" The bartender took the glass out of the drunken man's weak grip as he wiped away the scotch that spilled. He turned away to put the shot in the sink, and then smiled as he heard a thump, knowing that the poor, disheveled man had fallen asleep on the counter. Oh how he wished he could do the same. Joey, his roommate, was a struggling actor who could never land a big role, so he was working double shifts, just to pay the rent.
"Chandler, I need a Black Russian and a Flaming Blue Screw. But PLEASE be careful with the blowtorch this time… try not to light the whole bar on fire," one of the waiters called to him from across the restaurant.
"Yeah, yeah, ok…" Chandler mumbled. He couldn't believe that he lit the blowtorch when there was raw vodka all over the bar. That was not a fun day…
"Everyone still bent on that accident, huh Chandler?" another young bartender said as he poured a glass of wine.
"Well, excuse me, Dallas," he said, drawing his name out for effect, "It seems like I'm not then only one who has messed up around here. Remember when you were carrying those beer mugs, trying to impress that chick, and you tripped and fell, causing ALL of them to break? There was glass everywhere. I don't think you got your paycheck that month." Chandler shot back with a smirk.
"Okay, fine!" he threw his hands up in defeat "Everyone makes mistakes, sorry."
"Great, thank you. Glad you agree."
"Although your mistake was dumber than mine," Dallas said under his breath, but just loud enough so that Chandler could hear him.
Chandler made a face at him and laughed sarcastically, "Oohh ho-hoho, got me there."
"Hey, better stop making faces… that chick is checking you out."
"For the love of god, would you stop bugging me? …Wait, what? Where?"
"Gotcha! Wow, you're hopeless, dude. I think you need to go out on a date. You haven't been on one since I met you."
Unfortunately, Dallas was right. Chandler hadn't been on a date in a very long time. Sure, he flirted with the girls that were at the bar from time to time, but he was too much of a coward to ever ask any of them out. The last girlfriend he had was… Kristie? Kaleen? Kathy? Chandler couldn't even remember it was so long ago. When she dumped him for some other guy, he stayed in his sweats for 2 weeks, with only Joey to comfort him.
"So are you going to come with me to 'Bonkers' tonight? I think we are overdue to go out and get hammered." Dallas interrupted, breaking Chandler's train of thought. It didn't really matter to him anyway, he wasn't really thinking that hard in the first place.
"Naw, I have to work the late shift again. Plus, I like it better here later at night. Not as many… drunken… 21 year-olds yelling at you to jump up on the bar and start dancing." He stated with a wince, trying to come up with some sort one believable argument.
"Hah, you wish. I'm not giving up that job anytime soon. I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Ach, fine. Later."
Dallas grabbed his coat off the rack and left, holding the door open for a woman who was just entering the bar.
Maybe I should go out on a date. I'm socially drained… and need someone other than Joey to talk to… strip joints just get old after a while. Hah, That's probably one of the last things on my list to do right now. I'm not gonna meet any women there, because all of 'em are to busy giving the drunken bachelors and their friends lap dances.
Chandler sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
One thing's for sure: I'm gonna die lonely.
The slight breeze from the door caught him off guard, and he shivered as a chill went up his spine. As he rubbed his forearms, trying to warm himself up, he looked up to see the dark haired woman walk in the door. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever laid eyes on. Totally in shock, Chandler didn't even notice that she had crossed the room and come to sit at the bar in the seat right in front of him. Wishing his facial features would uncontort into an expression more human, he blinked a couple times before he started to breathe again.
"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to be a good bartender and take my order?" she said with the slightest hint of annoyance, but glossed over with complete charm.
"Oh, uh, yeah hi, what can I get for you?" he said shaking his head trying to free his mind from the dreamland he had just been in.
"Umm, a Mudslide, I guess," she said, fumbling around through her purse, trying to find money to pay for her drink.
"Well, you don't drink very much, do you?" he quipped, flashing her a quick smile.
The woman looked up from rummaging around her purse. "Why do you think that?"
"Well, a Mudslide is like… chocolate and vodka. You are basically drinking Hershey's syrup. A little to sweet, if you ask me. Good for light drinkers, like yourself."
"Ok then, how bout you?" she shot back with a grin.
"Well, I would have to say a Snake Bite. Only two ingredients: Yukon Jack and Lime juice. Either that or, If I am feeling really dangerous, a Blue Motorcycle. You start with one ounce each of Vodka, Rum, Sour mix, Tequila, Gin, and Blue Cucarao. Mix them all together; put it in a hurricane glass, and fill to the top with 7-up. Two of those will give you one nasty hangover."
Monica smiled at his wit. She had never met a guy that was so up-front with her, and didn't act all mooshy gooshy and overly flirty when they tried to talk with her.
"Well, looks like someone has been doing their homework."
"Yeah, I'm a good little boy," Chandler answered, his smile growing yet wider. "So, do you want that Mudslide, or should I get you something more subtle, like a scotch on the rocks with a twist?"
"Actually, that's not such a bad idea. I haven't had one of those in a very long time. Hmmm… maybe because it reminds me so much of my husband. Hah, that old bastard." She said. Chandler could tell that she wasn't at all fazed when talking about this man.
"Oh… well, sounds like something happened to him, and, amazingly, you are incredibly upbeat about it."
"Yeah, well, his time finally came. I mean, I waited 3 years for this guy to croak. You wouldn't believe how OLD he was! I mean… ok sure, the sex was good in the beginning. I'll give him that much. After a couple years of fornicating like jackrabbits, he just couldn't …perform like he used to. Joints seized up, muscles ached, stuff… shrunk…" She said before making a face, and taking a sip of the scotch that Chandler had placed in front of her.
Chandler gulped down the growing nausea he was experiencing from her openness. He really didn't need that much information.
"Don't get me wrong, I loved him with all my heart. I guess it was a mistake to marry someone who was 21 years older than you." She added with a look of embarrassment.
"Hmmm, poor you." Chandler smirked, opening a bottle of water for himself. "What was his name?"
"Richard Burke."
Weird… where have I heard that name before?
Monica chuckled, "You look familiar. What's your name?"
"Chandler Bing."
"Oh my god! You went to college with my brother, Ross Geller, didn't you?"
Her sudden change of tone surprised Chandler, but more so that this woman, claiming to be Ross's sister, knew of his whereabouts in college.
"Yeah… but I thought Ross only had one sister, Monica, and she was really overweight, and well you're… not." Chandler said, recalling how Monica Geller had made him macaroni and cheese the year he came over, because he was boycotting all thanksgiving food.
Monica smiled sheepishly, remembering how large she was all those years ago.
"I'm Monica. I guess I've lost a lot of weight since then. Nice of you to notice, though."
Chandler's jaw hit the floor. This is Monica? Disgusting, overweight, obese Monica? How can that be?
"Oh, wow, I am so sorry! I cannot believe I just called you fat to your face. You're Monica, … but you're not fat, you're thin… but you were fat, and now you're amazingly hot… and I'm talking out loud. Oh, Chandler please do shut up!" He stammered, realizing that he had just completely made a fool out of himself.
The confused, yet amused expression on Monica's face did nothing but scare Chandler more as he reacted like he just entered the lion's den.
Get out of there! Alarms were going off in his mind, screaming at him, forcing him to get away from his gigantic blunder.
"Uhhh, I'll be right back…" Chandler said to Monica, as he started to scoot in the direction of the kitchen.
"Wait, where are you going? Are you ok?" She said with a concerned look as Chandler almost backed into another bartender carrying someone else's drinks.
"YES! I am, I need… I just… need to check… on… something…" Hesitating through his words, he tried to get out of there as fast as humanly possible without being rude… which was close to unfeasible.
Finally stumbling through the butler-style door to the kitchen, he collapsed onto a pile of stacked flour bags. The confused gazes of the cooks preparing food didn't stop Chandler from cursing himself lightly, shaking his head in distress. He kept his sprawled position until he managed to calm himself down. The cool cement of the wall behind him made him shiver as he deeply inhaled then exhaled.
"Jesus, Chandler. Why do you have to be so inconsiderate and… stupid?" He said to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You are the farthest thing from a gentleman I have ever know." Filtering his anger into an action, Chandler punched the nearest bag of flower with all his might. The second he did, he realized that it was much harder than he had apprehended. Recoiling as if stung, he shook out his hand and began to rub the red and swelling knuckles that had just lost in the battle of fist versus cooking ingredient.
"See? You just proved your point that you are stupid." He said with a sigh, raking his hands through his limp hair, the gel having worn off some time before.
Standing up, he walked over to the sink and ran his hands under the cold water, trying to soothe his swelling hand. Gathering up water into his cupped hands, he splashed the cool liquid onto his face. With the remaining droplets of water still stuck to his shaking hands, he ran them through his hair to reactivate the gel he had applied earlier that morning.
After compiling himself and taking a couple deep breaths, Chandler headed out of the small kitchen and back out into the restaurant. Just as he had expected, Monica was nowhere to be found. He was about to slam his fist against the wooden bar, but quickly decided against it.
Massaging the back of his neck with sore, calloused fingers, he sighed and rested his hands behind his head.
"Smooth, Bing. The first woman you have a somewhat legitimate conversation with in a long time, and you blow it because of your big mouth."
Chandler moved over to the place where she had once sat, and noticed three things arranged in a neat trio on the bar.
What he found was her empty glass, money for her drink… and a napkin with a sloppily written phone number on it, accompanied by the words, 'Call me'.
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Let me know if I should keep going.