How I Lost My Life

Have you ever been in the wrong place at the wrong time?  I have, and it cost me my life…

         One Friday night I decide to go out after work because work fuckin’ sucks and my boss hates me.  So I stop at the pub around the block from my apartment and order a pint of Guinness and a cheeseburger.  I’ve settled comfortably in the booth in the back, not listening to much of anything besides my own inner ramblings, when I hear (or think I hear) someone say something about our city’s mayor, Carl Pike, a very dear friend of the family.  So my ears perk up and I hone into the conversation.

In a low voice:  “The way I see it, it can go one of two ways.  First, we can do what we were hired to do and get paid AND rid the city of the scummiest mayor we’ve ever seen, or we can NOT do what we were hired to do, NOT get paid, and deal with this fucker for however long he’s got left in office.”

In another low voice, distinct from the 1st: “Well, since you put it that way.  When’s the best time to do this?”

         This is the point when I realize that I’m at the wrong place at the wrong time.  Obviously.  So I shift over to get out of the booth and get the hell out of there, but apparently I’ve made too much noise and both of the guys that are plotting to (and were hired to) kill the mayor, my friend, are staring at me.

         I freeze.  I mean, what would you do in that situation?  These are hired hit men for God’s sake! So after I un-freeze, I run, because I know that these men would have no problem killing me since I’m just a useless ole joe to them and could possibly spoil their murderous plans.  It must have been my “flight or fight” reflex because I flew like I’ve never flown before. 

         Let me tell you, I was out of the side door in about 2 seconds flat, and, as these guys were much bigger (and much slower) than I am, they hadn’t even gotten out of their seats yet.  So I run into the alley behind the bar, one that I know well, since I cut through it when I want to shave a few minutes off my walk home.  I know I only have a split second to decide what I’m going to do, so I do the only thing that someone in my position would do.  I ask the bum that lives in the alley to have his clothes, and then I give him my clothes and my wallet.  He’s confused, but obliges, since there’s about $50 in there.  I tell him to get the hell out of there, and I huddle down in the alley, smear some dirt on my face and try to look sickly.

(It’s not that hard, really). 

The hit men run past me without a second glance.  And the rest is history. 

Oh, but I forgot to introduce myself.  I’m Hayden Jones, CPA.  Well, that’s who I used to be…

Now I go by Joe, and I live in the alley behind my old apartment.