"...sometimes, love's a bitch........"
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PUBLISHER: None
WEBSITE: this one
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I got up, spitting out gravel and road dust from every corner of my open mouth. Patting off the dirt and grit from my trousers, and shaking off the obligatory dust residue on my shirt. I had the only thought that came to mind and made perfect sense, and it was this: “That Bitch. She did it to me again.” That’s something a guy has to say out, or scream at the top of his lungs out in the middle of the road: Or, spend the rest of his time thinking about. I had time to think about the string of events that led me up to being kicked in the nuts and thrown out of a speeding car in the middle of the night. If I didn't try, I still would. I'd spent most of my time, as I made the long, I mean way fucking long, trek back to Jamestown, outside of Austin Texas. I burned each identifiable detail into the corners of my memory, so when I got back to my house, cleaned up, ate something, and went on my‘Hunt For Red October’ type mission for that two-faced little red headed bitch, I'd be in the right mood for doing just that. I was trying not to be that type of guy. That’s what I was trying to tell myself. I won’t think about that little…..that…..that..
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The day started at 9 a.m. (well, I tried not to think about it. No such luck, dammit) on a Saturday. After a week of pulling my ass through the grind of a very crappy 9 to 5 that I was as happy to be working in as Clinton was to have been caught, and Monica was for having to be caught with the family jewels on the tip of her tongue. What I did for a living, to this day, I’d never, ever, think of myself as doing at the ripe old age of 26. I- and if you laugh, I will break my foot off so deep inside your ass, you’d be pullin’ every single letter of Reebok out of your crack for a week- manage the 'Burger In A Minute' joint in the flea speck that is Jamestown. Christ , how did I come to this. When I was in school, which wasn’t long ago, I had dreams of being an Internet Mogul and read my ass off to learn about it. You know, one of those guys like that Napster jerk-off, makin’ money the fast and easy way. Now he’s down the tubes, and my dream of easy money, sank like the Titanic. Leonardo I am not. There went Michigan State. Couldn’t afford it after graduation anyway. Mom drank my tuition and ran off with a guy named Jimmy. That was my graduation present.
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The green and white sign, covered with rust spots at the edges, said I had ten more miles to go till I hit the city limits. Glad I wore my Lugz with the good padding. Dress shoes would have killed my feet. It was 2:30 in the morning, and I didn’t expect to see anyone driving along side of me, lifting the burden of the long walk, to pick me up. My only company for the trip, was a long stretch of black asphalt highway, tumbleweeds crisscrossing my path every half mile, and the occasional howl of a horny-ass coyote, screaming itself hoarse for some female coyote to prepare herself for his impending approach and subsequent mounting. Stupid bastard. Leave the females alone. Specially red-heads.
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I was working nightshift at the Burger (the regular kid got a better gig) on a Wednesday. I loved the nightshift crew, I truly did, really. I loved being the only one on the floor with a desire to think, and the drive to do it. Nate was on register, ( 18 year old punk with Erkel-like manners, without being black and had Erkel’s wardrobe down to the suspenders. Least he was good at math ) doing his best at driving the customers nuts by offering ‘em something they didn’t want.
“Excuse me, sir,” thick glasses and nasal voice complete the effect, “would you like to have a extra thick frosty shake with your order?”
Customer: “Naw man. Just a number 1 with a root beer and no pickles.”
Nate: “Are you sure. They’re really good, especially with a piping hot fruit pie baked fresh just thi-“
Customer: “Naw man, damn. Just the number 1 with a root beer and no pickles. Shit.”
Nate: “Okay sir. Your total comes to be $6.45, would you like that hour sized or minute sized?”
Customer: “No. Damn. Here. Just give me my shit. Damn, dog, you‘a fool.”
Nate: “Here you go sir, and you have a nice night.”
You’re wondering why I didn’t go over there and stop Nate, apologizing to the customer for Nate’s actions. Well, one: it doesn’t do any good. Nate’s like a rain man, except he doesn’t have rain man’s social skills: and two, I knew the guy he was servin’ from high school. He’s still a fuckin’ jerk. Used to be on the track team, real hot shit, right. Now, he’s pumpin’ gas a couple of blocks from here. Good to see him get screwed with. I walked over to Nate, patting him on the shoulder and smiling, tellin’ em to keep up the good work. Jesus, am I pitiful or what. Taking pleasure in petty things. Well, time to go look in on my other employees. There was Jerry (19) on the grill, Fran (20) on the fries (hah-hah fry duty sucks. Mainly for the grease splatter,) and Derek and Eric (21 both) on the drive thru’s. Corey (23) was on floor duty, cleaning and sweeping the floors, and emptying garbage. It was a slow Wednesday.
—
I was at the five mile limit and the sun hadn’t come up. It was 3:30 by the Casio on my wrist. Dumb-ass me left his cell at home. Not thinking me, actually trusted Sandra when she gave me her new number that Wednesday at the Burger.
—
I was doing the basic managerial duties behind the counter when she and a group of her girlfriends came bouncing through the double doors. Sandra and her college set. She was a stuck up little fire-red haired tramp wearing those dumb blue jeans without the belt loops that a normal pair of jeans had. A black tank-top that said ‘Guess’ in sparkles, that didn’t cover her flat belly and showed her belly bracelet and matching button ring. She spoke and joked with the rest of her tramp-like girlfriends like a pack of clucking hens. The movement of her hips as she stood there drove me nuts. She could never stand still, always had to be on the move. Her small, perky breasts, that stood there at attention (so I leered, sue me). Her nipples matched the color of her hair (everywhere there was hair), and her ivory-white skin had those freckles I liked to lick. She had a habit of sucking on her pinky finger nail, like she was doing now. God she was beautiful, the bitch. How do I know these things?
She was my girlfriend for a year in high school, and two years after. It damn near killed me when we broke up. Day after we did, she sure as hell bounced back.
On the arm with some Back Street looking bitch. Should’ve beaten the hell outta him then, but I was too broken up over her.
Yeah, that’s it.
That’s what I tell myself instead of the fact I couldn’t fight for shit.
She strolled over to the counter,
girl pack in tow.
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