fuck that shit

I walked through the old pink doors, Social Distortion’s “I Was Wrong” blared from some shitty bar speakers that had blown out a long time ago. I winced at a bright light from above. I hate lights in bars. They serve no purpose other than to expose the ugliness that you go into the bar to hide.

“Shiner and a Jameson,” I say to Luther, my favorite bartender of the moment.

“You got it Jonesy,” he replies with a finger point, he’s no longer my favorite bartender of the moment, but he does deliver the goods. Which I tip accordingly for.

“You ever going to replace those speakers?” I ask in a raspy, I just took a shot of Jameson voice.

“Nah, you’ll just blow them out again.”

True, one night a few months ago, I jumped behind the bar while American Aquarium’s “Redheads and Adderall” came on. Mostly, I did it to mute the gaggle of sorority girls belting out some Lady Gaga tune over at one of the booths. They had an I-phone with it playing. The worst part of this bar is its proximity to the university. However, it’s also one of its selling points on a cold, lonely night.

“Eh, that was justifiable homicide, Luther. I can’t stand it when I have to hear shrill sounds coming from shallow people.”

“How the fuck do you listen to your own thoughts?”

“Yeah, fuck you then,” I replied, finishing off my Shiner. “Another round, then.”

He took my empty bottle and the shot glass. The bottle shattered in the trash bin after he tossed it about 12 feet to the corner. It amazed me that he never fucking missed that shot. At least when I was around.

“You ever miss?”

“Of course I do. But I’m on my A-game just for you.”

“Fuck off and give me my drinks.”

He filled a shot glass. Then pounded a second on the bar, filling it to the point of overflow, but stopping just in time. “Damn, he is on his A-game tonight,” I thought.

We clinked glasses and downed the shots. It’s going to be another long night, I could tell. At 2:37 p.m. On a Tuesday.

“Where is everybody?” I asked with a grin.

“Guess they heard you’d be here, went over to Charlie’s. A lot less lecherous 40 year olds hanging out there. In fact, I think they don’t let you in anymore, right?”

“Fuck off, Luther.”

“You two bicker like a married couple,” a voice shot out from the darkness. Immediately, I was in love. No matter what she looked like.

“Nah, I’ve asked him at least 100 times. Including the first night I was in this damn bar,” I said. “Dick head always says “I’m not gay, man.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Sure you’re not,” she said. My heart skipped another beat. This lady’s got moxie. You don’t see too many in this place with moxie. Most of ‘em have money, yeah, that and pearly white teeth. Impossibly white. My golden teeth certainly don’t fit into mom and dad’s usual plans for their little darlings. Thankfully.

“I can hear you, but I can’t see you,” I say, looking toward the darkness that is the left side of the joint.

Slowly, a shadow creeps out of the dark. She hits the light for a second, then disappears, then reappears.

“Who are you? Antonio Banderas?”

“You think you’re really clever, don’t you?” she says as she sits down next to me. She smells of watermelon. Her hair is, of course, red. It couldn’t have been any other color. Now, whether or not it’s real, I’ll probably never know. At least that’s what I think at that moment of terror.

“Nah, I’m just an asshole who throws shit out and usually, it sticks.”

“My name’s Maddy,” she says, sticking out her hand for a shake.

“Randy,” I reply. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“You going to buy me a drink, or do I have to do it myself?”

“Get the lady a Jameson and Shine,” I say to Luther. He cocks his head a bit. I don’t usually order my usual for the ladies. And usually, they don’t order it either. He looks at her, she doesn’t take her gaze off of me. Luther finally gets a bottle and a shot. She reaches over for the shot, clutches it and swigs it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Was that a test?” she asks.

“Nah, I figured if you didn’t want it, I’d just drink it and then order you a Singapore Sling or something.”

“Fuck that shit.”

I had no chance after that.

“Fuck that shit, indeed.”