Sunday, October 31, 2010

A good lie / Pervis Nessle


Stable marriages are built around small, impenetrable lies. Sad as it may be, it’s a necessary evil to keep both man and wife on the favorable side of the sanity line. This much he was certain of. Whether or not this particular lie qualified as necessary was debatable. In fact, walking into the bar, the exact reasoning behind the lie momentarily escaped him. As he scoped the front room, then back, for the ideal spot to sit, he re-justified his reasoning and once again felt satisfied. He had a need, a right, to take a couple hours tonight for himself. If a well prepared lie was all that stood between him and that, then so be it.

The lie was this: His wife was under the impression that he was obligated to attend an after work function to see off a coworker whose last day was Friday. Some bar in midtown. No, they weren’t great friends but it was important that he make an appearance. Everyone else was going. He wouldn’t stay long, just a couple of drinks. He felt bad that he couldn’t come home straight after work to help out with their daughter. He knew she’d been a handful as of late. If it were any consolation, he could pick up dinner on the way home.

All bullshit.

All except the baby being a handful that is. That part was true and was the primary reason he sought some solace. The rest, a well orchestrated lie. The bar he sat in wasn’t in midtown and didn’t contain any coworkers. He was only a few blocks from home and the place was empty save for a couple guys at the bar watching a soccer game with no volume. He bought a beer and took a seat in the back room, by himself. He took a sip, then another, before setting the glass on the table and triumphantly leaning back in his chair. Damn he was smart. Not only had he managed to steal a few precious hours for himself, but he had a legitimate excuse to get a little drunk and have a cigarette or two. Choosing a bar close to home was an ingenious, last minute wrinkle as it also allowed him the luxury of loosing track of time to a certain degree. If after, say, three beers he got a call from his wife wondering if he was coming home soon he could say "I'm on my way" and still have time for another full beer before he would be expected to make it back all the way from midtown.

He took out a notebook and started jotting down various story ideas and musings that may or may not be brilliant. Most petered out after a few sentences. The few that lingered inched closer and closer to full-out masterpieces a beer and a half later. And that was the whole point, really. To allow himself to feel like a genius for a brief and stolen stint before returning to all his inadequacies, waiting at home.

His phone rang. It was his wife.

The baby was sick. Throwing up every ten minutes. Could he come home right away.

“Yes, I’m on my way.”

. . . Whether that was another lie was now the matter at hand. If he truly was 'on is way' he'd be home in less than ten minutes, an impossible feat if he indeed was coming from midtown. And while his hasty return would be appreciated, it would no doubt raise questions of how he'd made it home that fast. If he was to stick with the plan, he'd have to wait at least a half hour before leaving to maintain his pristine 'coworker after-work party' alibi.

He mindlessly tapped the phone still in his hand. He took another drink with the other.

The sanctity of this lie, and all others to follow, or the immediate welfare of his firstborn? ? ?

- - -

Two beers and forty minutes later he paid his tab and left the bar, head held high, as proud as he'd walked in.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The tomato incident / Eugene Itsokay


Sophomore year of college I lived in a rundown house with seven friends. Not yet blessed with the capacity to purchase groceries at regular intervals we lucked out as the building directly across the street offered a student meal plan. For a parent-fitted monthly fee all we had to do was muster the energy to put on some pants and a fully prepared breakfast, lunch, or dinner was a mere 50 feet away.

The place had a buffet style, all you can eat, punch card policy. Each time you walked in you gave your name, presented your card, and got checked off. It didn't take us too long to figure out that the way to get the most bang for your buck was to make it there for breakfast, stuff your face with eggs and hash browns, then smuggle out food for lunch and/or dinner. Multiple meals for a single card punch was the goal. Since the breakfast bar offered a nice spread of bagels and cold cuts the 'ole "fully loaded bagel sandwich tucked into the hooded sweatshirt" became a daily staple. I took great pride in this sandwich - toasted bagel with turkey, ham, roast beef, mayo, mustard, lettuce, and tomato. Take it home, wrap it in tinfoil, pop it in the fridge, head off to morning classes and come home for lunch to enjoy 'Divorce Court' and my bagel sandwich. It was a daily routine. I had a pretty good thing going.

One day I came home from class, flipped on the TV, and bit into my precious bagel sandwich only to realize something was missing. No tomatoes. I thought back to that morning's breakfast and could swear I added the sliced tomatoes same as I had every other morning for the past several weeks. There'd be no reason I wouldn't have. Some asshole had stolen my tomato slices. On the surface it didn't seem that big of a deal but the fact that one of my roommates took the trouble to carefully unwrap my sandwich, deconstruct it, remove the tomato slices, rebuild it, and rewrap it the same as before hoping I'd never notice bore a level of brashness and entitlement I couldn't leave unexposed.

"Did someone take the tomato slices off of my sandwich?"

The question was answered with guffaws and fierce dismissal. Who the fuck would bother taking a couple soggy tomato slices off your stupid sandwich they said. I was an fucking idiot they said. Shut the fuck up and eat your fucking sandwich they said.

I couldn't let it go. Months later, drunk at some bar I'd routinely pull roommates aside and sequester them. "Look man, about those tomato slices. I know you didn't do it but c'mon. It was Jimmy, right? No? It was Garrett then? Dude, I'm not even mad about it anymore. I just want to know who did it." No one was talking. They grew sick of the interrogations and retaliated with vulgar insults of varying accuracy. I conceded that I'd never find out what happened to those tomatoes.

Ten years since that troubling day I'd all but forgot about the sandwich. It was my wedding day. I was starting a life free from such controversies. 'My' tomato slices were now 'our' tomato slices. I could finally move on. The night was coming to an end. The dj was in the homestretch. Those who weren't dancing to "You Shook Me All Night Long" were busy gathering their suit jackets or heels. I was debating the pros and cons of one more beer when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to receive a heartfelt embrace from Jeremy, a close friend, a trusted confidant, and sophomore year roommate.

"It was me," is all he said. It was all that had to be.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Memorable moments from birthday's past / Greta Yank

33 - 10/7/2010: Steak thawing in the fridge. So far so good. . .
32 - 10/7/2009: Allowed to sleep in and relieved of diaper changing and dog walking duties for the day.
31 - 10/7/2008: New Socks! Some sex.
30 - 10/7/2007: Ice cream cake in conference room B
29 - 10/7/2006: Nice dinner with wife followed by 'Revenge of the Sith' on DVD.
28 - 10/7/2005: Ice cream cake in conference room C
27 - 10/7/2004: Cordial dinner at respectable restaurant with responsible and trusted friends that results in a drunken shit-show nonetheless.
26 - 10/7/2003: Parents come to visit. They buy me some work slacks.
25 - 10/7/2002: Call in sick to work and try to write a movie script. It goes just OK.
24 - 10/7/2001: $15 check from grandma used to roll joint.
23 - 10/7/2000: Fucking Zoology exam
22 - 10/7/1999: Received stack of porn from roommate.
21 - 10/7/1998: Allowed to dj at the after-bar. A lot of Fatboy Slim was played.
20 - 10/7/1997: Denied access to 'Wando's' with a pretty good fake Michigan ID
19 - 10/7/1996: Denied access to 'The Flamingo' with terrible fake Nebraska ID
18 - 10/7/1995: Doolian's parents out of town. Kegger. Wore cool new leather jacket hoping Shelly Fraser would show up. Passed out. Face drawn on. Shelly hooks up with Tod Mayberry. Jacket Lost.
17 - 10/7/1994: Cool Water cologne bitches!!
16 - 10/7/1993: Oh so lame pizza party attended by remaining friends who didn't yet drink. 'Faces of Death 2' rented and watched. Boobs talked about at great length.
15 - 1992: World's greatest pizza party attended by all the coolest guys in school. 'Faces of Death' rented and watched. Boobs talked about at great length.
14 - 10/7/1991: Thanks Mom for the expensive acne medication!
13 - 10/7/1990: Went to my first PG-13 movie without the accompaniment of an adult (Days of Thunder).
12 - 10/7/1989: Got a sweet friendship bracelet from Angela Mindel. She totally wanted me.
11 - 10/7/1988: Traded a '87 Will Clark Donruss for a Topps Bo Jackson rookie
10 - 10/7/1987: Had sleepover where Jeffrey Meyers peed his pants and had to leave early.
9 - 10/7/1986: Pretty pissed off about getting socks from grandma.
8 - 10/7/1985: Asked for Jet Fire. FUCKING RECEIVED JET FIRE!!
7 - 10/7/1984: Too old for Cookie Monster cake. Publicly shamed.
6 - 10/7/1983: Wanted He-Man. Received 3 He-Men. Proceeded to trade extra two for Shipwreck & Man-At-Arms. Win-win.
5 - 10/7/1982: Ant farm sucks
4 - 10/7/1981: Disappointment surrounding new laser gun's lack of actual lasers.
3 - 10/7/1980: I am a cowboy. Seriously. Also balloons are awesome.
2 - 10/7/1979: FROSTING!!
1 - 10/7/1978: STOP LOOKING AT ME!! WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING!!
0 - 10/7/1977: Not a fan of the whole breathing oxygen thing. Also it is cold and not nearly wet enough.