Wake me up at beer thirty

It’s been a rough week of work. I still can’t stand my butter face co worker. Found that most of the office (and probably most of the population) can’t stand her either. Arrogant CuCuy lookin’ twat. Having issues with writer’s block, again. Same ole same ole. Finished my first sci fi horror story last month. The Sophomore curse is in effect tho and I can’t seem to finish “the actor.”

I finally saw Spiderman and couldn’t help but think of the step-daughter I almost had. She resembles Mj. The movie was good. I saw it alone but it doesn’t matter even when I am in a room with someone, I feel alone.

The following is a work of non-fiction…Mostly.

It was Friday and I offered to buy my coworker a beer after work. She had a nice ass and after a few conversations we made plans to meet for a beer. We sipped our beers slowly at a bar, in the German town I grew up in; the watering hole was called the Toit. I liked the dive bar atmosphere and the place had this juke box with a selection of artists I really liked; such a George Jones, Johnny Cash, the Rolling Stones, Def Leppard, Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and George Straight. The music selection seemed to cut off somewhere around the 90’s. The beer was cheap and it was a good place to begin the night. Sherrie was older and lived in a college town 15 minutes from where we worked. I wasn’t certain that I wanted to sleep with her (I’ve had previous problems after screwing former coworkers who often got attached afterwards) but I was tired of moping over my ex so I figured ‘what the fuck?’

The company of a pretty woman was better than drinking at home alone.

We vented about work, swapping stories and laughing at our past; the ice between us broke, and Sherrie suggested we ‘smoke a ciggy outside on the patio, if there is one?’

Standing outside the front door of the Toit, our heads bounced back and forth as we noticed that all four picnic tables under the awning were full of people. Then an older man sitting at the table closest to us, waved us over and offered for Sherrie and I to join his table. We sat down and introductions were made. Jimmie, an alcohol swollen biker with glasses, mustache and cut off sleeves t-shirt, had wiry grey and white hair that puffed out comfortably under his Harley Davidson ball cap. Seated to his left was a bookish 30-40ish guy named Jeff. To Sherrie’s right was the other 60-70ish man who looked like Mario from Super Mario Bros. He bore a strong resemblance to someone of German and Irish descent. If I had to guess, his occupation was plumber. He was pudgy and as we all got comfortable with each other, I noticed Sherrie kept leaning into “Kraut Mario,” while making remarks, as she touched him on his shoulder casually.

Jealousy burned across the surface of my face the second time she did it.

But then I remembered that I wasn’t completely confident that I wanted to take her panties off; so I played it cool.

Sherrie and I talked about going to another bar-Mephistopheles’ but before we could finish our beers Jeff bought the table a round. We soaked up another along with the charm of our company. While bullshittin’ I noticed that Jimmie had these enormous hands. He must have been a mechanic or someone who worked with his hands. I mentioned the part time job I had at one of the local funeral homes; it was once a German, family owned establishment. As Jimmie drunkenly squawked and joked, I noticed that he was missing a finger.

“Yeah that Mesican can sure barbeque,” Jimmie said to me. He explained that he was waiting on his friend from the valley named Henry. Jimmie’s brother in law had just died of cancer and his ‘fat Mesican friend Henry’ was meeting him there to hit a local lake; to prepare for a barbeque plate sale. The competition/benefit was taking place the next day, on a Saturday. It was being held to raise funds for funeral expenses in honor of Jimmie’s brother in law. Jimmie and Henry were planning on smoking a brisket and drinking all night.

To be continued.