It began warming up in the middle of March. The last of the snow was melting away and people began to paint flowers and grass on the store windows. Spring is my least favorite time of the year. It is infested with pollen and wet weather.
I sit behind the bar in Rex's sipping on a Corona. My shift had ended two hours ago, but Jamie still hadn't shown up, which is typical and annoying, to say the least. I didn't mind though. Mickey tossed me free beers, and I read the newest book I had purchased with the last of the $500 and 50 something I had brought with me from New York. It is a Wednesday, a slow night. Mickey, my boss sits beside me reading Times magazine sipping on a Bud Ice. I once told him that Bud Ice was possibly the worst beer in the world. We fought about this frequently.
"So what's the news boss?"
"This world is going to straight to fucking hell."
" You're just now figuring this out? Seriously Mickey, when Bud Ice was announced one of the top selling beers in the country, this country went to hell."
Mickey looks up from page 24 and looks directly at me. He shuts the magazine and tosses it on the counter, but grips his beer tightly, "Bud Ice has an incredibly quinchy bitter taste, and it's cheap. I'm poor, it's cheap and good. You understand what I'm saying?"
I lift an eyebrow, "I just recently became broke myself, but I still don't settle for that fucking shit."
"You're fired."
"How many times have I been fired?"
"Ten."
"Well in that case, I'm going home and taking my numb ass to bed."
He sighs, "No the hell you aren't. I need someone working bar."
"You can work bar," I negotiate.
"Sorry, I'm too busy learning how fucked up our economy is," he points to the magazine on the counter. I take the last sip of my beer and re-open my book. We have three people eating, and one old man drinking Miller Light. I should go home.
"You know, the best beer I ever had?" I begin.
"Bud Ice?"
"Ha-ha," I say, "No. One year my brother, Jeremy went on this Europe road trip with his buddies, and they went to Finland last, in a town called Lahti,"
"Mhm."
"And he brought back this beer called Lapin Kulta. It has this extremely smooth taste and it smells like a fruit almost, but it tastes rich and malt," I close my eyes remembering the sweet taste. I wonder if he brought it back legally.
"Well, as I said, I'm poor. I'll never go to Finland."
I smile, and throw my empty bottle into the green recycling bin under the last shelf of the inner bar. Corona sounds like Bud Ice now. I look at myself in the mirror plated behind shelves of beer and liquor. No designer. The jeans I wore were bought from Pac Sun, and my v-neck was a dark purple on sale tee I got from Urban Outfitters. I still hadn't touched my clothes that Steven had sent to me. They were all I knew. My hair wasn't styled, it just hung loosely from an attempted ponytail, and my long eyelashes posed at the only make-up I had on. . It was closing in on 10.
Jeremy's old couch sounds like a good place to be. It is so wonderfully placed far enough from his bedroom so I don't hear Michelle bitching at Jeremy about getting married. I had decided she was an idiot a few days ago when she bought her own engagement ring. Jeremy would shit if he knew she was running around West Chester claiming to be the future Mrs. Hull. I laugh at my vision of his face. Terrified.
The door swings open and four men come in looking wide awake and all smiles.
Great, just when I thought Mick would just let me go home. Two of them supported untamed dirty beards, and the other two had clean faces and when I say clean I mean no facial hair, not the appearance of their skin. They all looked like they needed a bath.
Mick eyes me, because the only waitress we have on floor is taking a ridiculously long smoke break. I grab a notepad from the counter and walk my way to the table that sat themselves at.
"Hey guys, what's it gonna be tonight?" I ask, before reaching the table.
"Four Coronas and a plate of those chip things?" The tallest one asks.
"Hey, Jess. Get some of that spinach dip stuff."
"Chad, that stuff smells like your ass, please seriously I'll puke," one of the clean faced man states. This man looks up at me and winks.
"Okay, some of that spinach shit," 'Jess' says.
"That's all?" I ask, leaning against the table.
"Nah babe, add another Corona,"
"Doubling up?" I ask.
"Nah babe, we got another comin'. By the way I'm Novak," This is the same man who has winked at me.
"And my name isn't babe," I state, rolling my eyes. The other men smile at me, laughing at 'Novak'. I walk off and slide to pad to Mickey, who glares at me for my unfriendly gesture to the pig at table 4.
"What?" I glare.
"I'm laughing if you get s shit tip."
"If I get a shit tip, I will walk after the son-of-a-bitch and yank his wallet out of his shit jeans. I've been working 2 hours overtime and I will not accept bullshit pay for Carrie's smoke break," I say as I walk back to the kitchen.
"Mitch, I need some chips and some of that spinach dip."
"Should I spit in it?" he askes by the tone of my voice.
"No, the smell is bad enough."
I laugh as the pig at table 4 gags at the spinach dip. I love personal payback. I look down at my book, Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk. My favorite author. I fill my head with it's contents and drown out the laughing and gagging at table 4. I set my left elbow on the counter and twirl my hair with my hand.
"Hey, Mick," a voice emerges from the door.
"Hey, Bam, how's it goin?"
"Shit-not, you?"
"Slow as fuck. The boys bought ya a beer, holler if it's too hot."
I haven't looked up yet. Holler my ass, because I'll have to get up and take your fucking fresh beer to pig table, and I just got to the part when Streator starts killing people with the Culling Song. Great timing asshole.
"Chuck Palahniuk, huh?"
I look up at the man who addressed my novel. Huge blue sea eyes scanned me as I lifted my eyes up to his face. He also supported a scruffy beard and his dark hair was covered with a Crown Cap Eskimo style rabbit fur hat. He lifts an eyebrow at me.
"Yeah, he's great," I say picking up the book and shaking it.
"Invisible Monsters is his best."
"I have to agree," I remark. He gives me a crooked smile and winks. Only his wink sent shivers down my spine. He walks to table 4 pushing over 'Jess' and takes his seat.
I swing my head to Mick, who's eyes were wide at his magazine, but I knew they were referring to me. I bite my lower lip.
"Who is that?"
"Bam Margera."
"What? Wait. Why does that sound familiar?" I whisper.
"He's a professional skateboarder. You know the television shows; Jackass, Viva La Bam," He whispers back.
I never watch television, and I regret now that the only show I even paid close attention to was Gilmore Girls. I shake my head and look back at my book.
"And he just got out of like a 6 year relationship," Mickey whispers.
I blush, "I'm not interested," I mouth.
He rolls his eyes, "My ass."
"Hey Mick,"
"Yeah, Bam, beer cold?"
"Nah, I'm hungry, where's your waitresses around here?"
Mick eyes me, and I look at him sternly. He mouths 'Go' to me. I look at the table of men, all staring back, and Bam eyeing me so directly I thought I might hide under the bar. I grab the notepad and walk slowly to table 4, telling myself I was acting like a teenager all over again with my nerves.
As I approach table 4 I notice there are napkins soaking up either beer or puke, I didn't want to know.
"Yes?" I squeak.
"Can I get the Chicken sub, please?" Bam asks. I nod and ask if they want anything else.
"Another thing of this spinach dip," says 'Chad'. I hear the pig mumble 'Fuck' under his breath. After giving the order to Mitch, Carrie walked in on her phone. Usually her smoke breaks included another argument with her ex-husband, Pete. She said 'Bye' and shut her phone, slamming it on the counter.
"Sorry, Andy. Fucking piece of shit dick," she says, staring at her phone. A pack of Kools emerge from her pocket and she sighs.
"It's fine," I lied, "I understand," I lied again. I often wonder if she could just wait until she got home to bitch at her ex-husband about being late on his child support. I think she does this on purpose.
"So anything I can do?" she asks.
"When the Chicken sub and spinach dip is ready, take it to table 4," Mitch says, from behind his magazine.
It was going on 11:30 when the guys at table four all shuffled out of the booth. Bam stayed counting money onto the table. He shoved his wallet into his back pocket and stared at me as he walked to the door. About halfway, he lowered his head and exited.
I bolted for table 4, letting Carrie know whatever was on that table was mine. I looked down at two 50 dollar bills. My mouth widened. The bill was only $22.95. I picked them up and noticed a small piece of napkin under it.
Party tomorrow night. I hope to see you, Andy.
With that there was also an included address and a time. He remembered my name. Did I even tell him my name? I grew with excitement. What was even more composing was the fact that I was off Saturday night.
I took the napkin and walked towards the bar.
