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 |    Not for the faint of art. |
| 30DBC prompt is running late today, so to stick to my schedule I'm just gonna write some shit and edit this later. I think I fucked up yesterday. It has been my custom for nearly a year now to visit a local taphouse every Monday. I didn't do it for a couple of months in the winter, because I didn't want to sit inside and the patio was cold because it was winter. It tends to get cold in winter. I do not like cold. But now that I can sit indoors once more, I find I don't want to because it's warm on the patio. That's what happens in spring. I might change my tune in summer when it's been known to get up to 100F or more in the afternoon, but we'll see. Anyway, one of the employees there is this woman I'll call L. She knows her beer, so sometimes we have brief discussions of various beer styles and breweries, and her tastes are similar to mine. Yesterday, we had a brief chat like that and I casually remarked that at some point I'd like to sit down with her and just talk about beer. Now, this is what I meant by that: "One of these days, I'd like to sit down with her and just talk beer." I just want to be crystal clear about this. I have no ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, no desire to hit on her or charm her with my natural grace and smooth talk. I just want to talk about beer. And she said -- I think she smiled but she was masked -- "Oh yeah, I'd love to do that!" But then I realized I'd screwed up. I have a hard and fast personal rule against hitting on waitresses. It's rude, it's condescending, and it takes advantage of a power imbalance: they exist to serve me, and I exist to pay them, and that's not any kind of basis for an actual relationship, brief or otherwise. Not for me, anyway. (And this should not be construed as me thinking they're somehow lesser; I've dated servers before in my life, but never ones I've picked up at bars.) So, regardless of what I meant by that (which, again, was exactly what I said, no more and no less), there was no way that she could have responded in any way that wasn't positive, not if she wanted to keep me as a good tipping customer. Or at least that might be the case from her point of view, though even if she'd told me to sod right off, I'd still come back for the food and beer. And keep tipping for excellent table service. But how's she supposed to know that? I realized my mistake right away, so I didn't make any actual invitation as to time or place. Worse, I can't even blame being drunk. I was relaxed and in a good mood, but I'd only had one beer at that point. Even so, Drunk Me has made his share of mistakes, but he's never hit on a server. Usually his mistakes are limited to browsing Amazon or sending things he thinks are funny (but Sober Me doesn't) to friends via text. I'm actually a pretty calm drunk. Anyway, I've been kicking myself since then. There's no way to undo this. And I don't want to suddenly stop going there, because like I said, the food is terrific. All I can think of to do is to continue to be polite to her and the other employees, tip appropriately, and try to keep my (lack of) wits about me in the future. Yes, I know I may be overthinking this. And it's even possible that, just as I meant exactly what I said, she did too. If she brings it up in the future, okay, I'll know for sure. Until then, I'm just going to keep kicking myself. Edit:    PROMPT May 25th Write about the most exciting, odd, or valuable thing you’ve found on the ground or abandoned on the side of the road. Invent a story about where the object came from and who owned it before you found it. Mostly all I see on the side of the road is litter. Some of it might be valuable to someone, like when a car loses a hubcap from a pothole or something. But it's not valuable to me, unless I happen to have the same make and model of car and it's missing a hubcap, in which case I'd probably figure it was mine to begin with. Every once in a while I'll see a mitten, or a penny or a nickel. These days the roadside is absolutely strewn with face masks. In the ditch, on branches, hanging off of guardrails, in the middle of sidewalks... just yesterday, I saw one carefully preventing a fire hydrant from giving us all Covfefe-19. Y'all... stop it. Just stop. Stuff that thing in your pocket and later, dispose of it properly. Better yet, do what I do and use a cloth mask that you can wash. You're all a bunch of savages and you're the reason we can't have nice things. But one day, long ago, I was walking in an urban area and found... a $20 bill. PAYDAY! (Back then, $20 would get you more than a cup of coffee and a bag of chips.) And, I mean, it wasn't a particularly busy urban area, but it was still a city sidewalk, not far from the infamous statue of Robert E. Lee that subsequently made Charlottesville a household word. And the bill wasn't even hidden, just sitting there. So I must have missed whoever dropped that sucker by mere minutes, or less. Still, looking around, I saw no one nearby, so you're damned right I picked it up and claimed it using the ancient legal principle of Finderus Keeperus Loserus Weeperus. I mean, I try to be an honest guy, and if I'd seen someone walking away, fumbling in their wallet or purse like they're confused about something, I'd have waved it around for them. But thinking that made me wonder: Who loses a $20 bill? And only a $20 bill? Most of us keep those things secure. I didn't give the origin much thought then, and I sure as hell don't remember what I spent it on (probably a couple of slices of pizza and a beer), but now it occurs to me that one plausible scenario would be a marriage that was falling apart. How, you wonder? Okay, imagine a couple walking down the street and they get to arguing about, I dunno, the statue of Robert E. Lee or something. She says it's a disgusting monument to slavery; he claims it's a proud memorial about heritage. She scoffs. He doubles down. They're discussing this in loud voices, stopping every once in a while to flail arms and dodge those passers-by who don't have the wherewithal to cross the street to avoid the escalating fight. Eventually, they get to the "I'm not speaking to you anymore" part of the argument and storm off in different directions: him to the car, her to anywhere that is not in a car with him. But then, suddenly, he stops, realizing that even though she's Completely Wrong, he's still responsible for her (he's an asshole, but not a complete one) and so pulls out a $20 for a cab ride home (remember, this was pre-Uber). "Hey, okay, fine," he says. "Just take this so you can get home safe." "I don't want anything from you," she spits. He shakes the bill (which incidentally features a portrait of one of the worst racist presidents in American history). "Come on, take it!" Realizing it's the only way she can get away from this turd, she snatches the bill from his hand. As soon as his back is turned, she flips the bill onto the sidewalk. Seconds later, oblivious to the politics and family disputes involved, Waltz strolls by and claims the $20 bill, later to put it to good use. Well. Anyway. I do hope she got somewhere safe, and then dumped his sorry ass and took him for more than $20. |
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