Pick Up

My girlfriend wanted steak tips from this place we used to visit when we lived down the street. The food is very good and that was one reason but the biggest factor was a gift certificate someone gave us.

I, of course, had to go in. When I’m leaving the truck she tells me to make note of who’s there. I okay that instruction and enter the restaurant.

At the bar are people we know. Most of them greet me and we make a little small talk while waiting for the order. I was quite surprised to learn a couple of those people visit this site. I was even more shocked they like it.

“I never knew you were funny.” One guy said.

“You never paid me.” My standard response. I’m not one of those guys who’s on all the time. I punch in and punch out just like everyone else.

While talking to one guy another guy, someone we refer to as Smelly Guy for seriously proper reasons, keeps trying to get my attention. I keep signaling that I’ll be right there. But that’s not good enough. He keeps calling down the dozen or so seats.

“Hey, you want a beer? Want me to get you a beer?”

“No thanks,” I respond. “My order will be out in a minute.”

I’m finishing with one guy, shaking hands with another when Smelly Guy (who for some reason has an eye patch. I didn’t ask. I find curiosity kills many, many minutes of my life) sidles up to me.

“So, where ya been?”

“Around. We don’t get to this area much.”

“Oh, you should stop by more often.”

“We keep talking about it.”

“And where’s that lovely girlfriend of yours?”

“In the truck.” Smart enough to make me run the gauntlet.

And the conversation went on like that for the next couple of minutes. Let me say here that the moniker is not only fitting but exponentially so since we last spoke.

He kept pressing for attention and information. I kept deflecting and trying to find a clear air hole. Finally I had enough. I had to say hello to a couple at the end of the bar and the waitress was signaling for me.

I tried to close out the conversation with my patented easy let down. You know that one. It’s when you tell someone you’ll try to stop by over the weekend because it’s a specific time frame yet ambiguous enough so when you don’t show up you just say, ‘I said I’d try.’ And you’re home free!

But Smelly Eye Patch Guy kept going. I found myself in that place I go to when I clock in for work.

“Listen, if you keep it up I’m going to crawl up your ass and go spelunking with your polyps.”

I heard the guys behind me laugh.

“So that’s how you do it!” One of them said.

“I bet we’ll read that tomorrow!” The other one said.

And so you did.

9 responses to “Pick Up

  1. just bring your rusty coat hangar with you when you go spelunking up his ass.

  2. Being all famous and what not, you are obligated to keep the masses in stitches with EVERY word that comes out of your mouth. This does not mean you should be free or even cheap, although it is acceptable to be easy.

  3. I am not a performing monkey! I am a human being! I…am…a man!

  4. “I…am…a man!”

    Did you stomp you foot for emphasis?

    I am picturing you doing that, so there is really no need to respond.

    Oh yes, and you also cursed… just thought I should let you know.

    Do you need a life editor?

  5. I had a life editor.

    Died of exhaustion.

  6. I have done some amateur spelunking, but NEVER up someone’s ass, and certainly never to explore their polyps! And our equipment did not include any rusty coat hangers!

    I think you live more on the edge than I.

  7. OK you think that guy stinks, try being in IRAQ. This whole country stinks and every one of the Hijee’s do. But in 60 days I will be home! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Baby. Can’t wait to see ya.

    ps: Leave the smelly guy at the bar. Hahahahha.

  8. Oh sure, Bob, giving me shit because your life stinks worse than mine. That’s still up for debate! That guy really smells. Think about the shit we’ve pulled from under Fred’s house. Mix it with dog shit and the remnants of a meth lab then, and only then, will the true stench come to life for you.

    You’d feel real bad for me if you read the prom dress bit!

    But, even then, I get the last laugh. I only had to do it once. How many daughters do you have? Three! Aahahahahah! Screwed boy, you are screwed!

    Even better than leaving the smelly guy at the bar I left him at the far end. But wouldn’t you know it? I saw him on the street a few days later. And he was still wearing that fucking eye patch.

    Sixty days, eh? There are only two other words I’d rather hear: fifty-nine.

    Back just in time for the 4th of July. First rounds on you, bitch!

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