The Frenchman and the Fat Man
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Staying out of town on company business always lead towards to opportunity to go out to places alone and be yourself around strangers since you'll never see them again. Meals are expensed and you can exude the appearance of an eccentric business man or a passing vagrant or a combination of both. Maybe we'll find our way into interesting conversation. Will we meet the new Mrs. Ghengis tonight? Should I have asked for that second hotel key? Each night brings a different fate.
"I'll take another glass but let me pay cash for this one." She says, "I don't want the company to think I'm a raging wine-o! Ha ha!" I like the way she thinks. I'm in love already. She's seated at the bar rail in front of me, slightly to the right. Her spunky bleached blond hair could place her in the 25-year-old range, but the hint of meticiously covered wrinkles could mean up to 40. Further investigation is required.
The bar is half full. Patrons are dotted along seats along the rail and couples gathered in booth seats. The bartender asks the spunky girl if there was anything wrong with her unfinished food.
"Oh I loved it but I can't fit any more in. I need to be thin! I'm going to Jamaica next month." She prattles on. "Atkins works great. I lost 15 pounds on Atkins. I love meat but I can't eat too much of it." I hate her. Is this the only single chick in here?
MSNBC is airing a News Bulletin about Natalie Holloway. But it's not news. They have not found a body or received any confessions. The breaking news is MSNBC whining about how they are not allowed to air a piece of footage. They roll one clip over and over. It's the same clip of people walking into a jail. This gives the viewer a break from the talking heads but otherwise provides nothing. To my left the wait staff has gathered in the currently unused coat room for a giggle-fest.
Behind my table I hear a mumbled exchange.
"I'm sorry sir?"
The waitress giggles nervously. "Um, I'm sorry I didn't catch that."
"I.. don't... speak... english... very well." Mumbles the man.
"Oh ok. Can I take this plate from you?"
"I... uh.. yes?"
She giggles again, "Ok you can pay me. I'm the cashier too."
"Uh pay here?"
"Yes pay me at the table ok?"
The laborious exchange extends for a few more minutes and my divided attention turns back to the girl. The spunky girl is reading a book. Reading a book at a bar with her glass of wine. I hate her more. Behind me the hostess asks about the foreign gentleman's dining experience. "Tres bien! Very good!"
Great. French.
Six cheddar bay biscuits are placed in front of me. All else in the world could black out now as the cheddar transfusion begins. However, the Frenchman stands up and enters my view. He takes up residence next to the spunky girl at the bar.
The Frenchman leans over the bar and mumbles to the bartender. She doesn't understand him either. She reacts like she would with any incoherent drunk - she guesses that he wants a rum and coke.
The Frenchman takes his seat and lights a cigarette. He looks like the Slingblade version of Billy Bob Thornton. He makes a comment to the spunky girl. She feigns acknowledgement with a half-hearted nod as she takes a sip of wine between paragraphs. Neither the spunky girl nor the bartender seemed to understand the trouble he was having communicating.
His drink is delivered and he flashes a French Franc note at the bartender. "Oh that's really neat. I can't take it but it's really neat." She says condescendingly. "I've never seen one of those before. Actually I've never even been out of the country." The Frenchman laughs in his loss of words for a reply. He pays with his American money making sure the spunky girl can see how full his wallet is.
Pawing the condensation on his glass, the Frenchman turns towards the spunky girl to mumble another question. Annoyed she turns to him the first time. "OK I don't know what you said but I'm really trying to read here!" I love her again. No - wait. Anyone who can be that ignorant and rude to a complete stranger doesn't deserve any love.
A tense silence follows. Natalie Holloway is still dead and MSNBC is still whining through closed captions. The entree has not arrived yet. The Frenchman lights a second cigarette. The tension hangs. No one is speaking save the occasional giggle from the coat room.
The spunky girl rises in a huff. "Ok, no offense but I really wasn't looking for you!" The Frenchman has no idea what she said but the message was clear. He mentally writes another bullet point on his 'Why I hate America' list:
- Bitchy American girls who think they're all that
- Fat stupid Americans and the bitchy American girls who enable them
"Are you here on business?" She asks the fat man. "I'm here on business. I sell shampoo. I have all kinds of shampoo. It's really a good gig. I am out on business a lot and I always meet a lot of people. I like to travel the country. Here is a list of the places that I have been." The entire bar can hear her. "I make a lot of money selling shampoo. I bet you make a lot of money too, but enough about you, more about me me me me."
The Frenchman is pouring his 12 oz cocktail into an 8 oz plastic cup, spilling half of it on the bar. Natalie Holloway is still dead. The same clip of the jail is played for the 30th time. The Frenchman is laughing quietly to himself. The crab legs are cold.
Finally the bitchy girl and the fat man leave together and if ears could breathe, they would have collectively sighed in relief. At their parting, the Frenchman leans over the bar. He asks the bartender where a nearby bar is. The Frenchman spoke in clear and perfect English. The Frenchman no longer appeared to be drunk. The Frenchman wasn't even a Frenchman! He could speak English after all. The glassy, glazed over look on his face melts away and the formerly mentioned Frenchman appears to be on a mission.
A few dollars, American dollars, are thrown on the bar. The Frenchman exits the Red Lobster exuding determination. Was he FBI? CIA? A bounty hunter? French Mafia? Perhaps little Miss Bitchy was really a Mrs. Bitchy in disguise and she was looking for a new Mr. Bitchy for the night. Was the Frenchman pursuing the couple in the husband's interest? Or was it jealous rage?
What do you do?
Follow the Frenchman to his car and slash his tires... page 86.
Follow the bitchy girl and the fat man and be ready to call the police if the Frenchman shows up... page 22.
Finish your beer and forget it ever happened... page 29.
Go home and write a post about it on the internet... page 298
Use the bow and arrow on the dragon... page 99.
posted by Ghengis @ 10:34 PM,
,
Everything is now Illegal
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
And I thought closing two bank accounts in one day and opening a new one with the freshly printed cashier's checks would put me on government watch lists. In order to curb this current ailment I tried to buy Sudafed in a town that was not my own. Now my apartment is on a methlab watch list. I'm sure the police have it wired up right now with patrols driving past every half hour. Too bad I don't live there anymore.
I imagine all of the other states had cold medicine laws a long time ago. I'm pretty sure my state was proud of the growing number of houses that explode due to methamphetamine production. We got us some inventive people right here. I think we're number one in do-it-yourself chemistry. You can find DIY books at Lowes.
However the do-it-yourself books are not on the shelves at Lowes. You have to find the shelf where the book would be located, take a card, and then take it to a responsible sales representative. They are easy to find because they are wearing backbraces. They will retrieve the book for you. You cannot directly buy from the shelf because you could take the books out of the store and tear to pages out and make paper airplanes and stand in front of schools in the morning and pass them out to kids so they can cause disruptions in class and Lowes would be held responsible for the child's detention time.
I think I contracted SARS this weekend - thus the need for the Sudafed. The house warming party was already planned and there was no emergency SARS contingency plan so everyone came over anyway. I was pleased to find that my friends wanted to help celebrate my purchase of a house and our passage into real old people adulthood by coming over and playing a teenage favorite called Edward 40 hands.
Bad Idea.
There was only a little bit of blood on the carpet the next morning so it was a pretty good party.
When asked my friend if she thought we kept the neighbors up, she replied, "I think God had to put in earplugs before getting any sleep that night."
posted by Ghengis @ 12:41 AM,
,
If it weren't for that Horse...
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
I was there anyway so I decided to order some food. Normally I see McDonald's as a place to use the bathroom - at par with a gas station. Those golden arches do not conjure up the traditional American images of french fries and tiny processed beef burger. Rather they serve as a visual laxative.
Hunger overtook me, however, and I rationalized a purchase at the lower end of the fast food totem with the mantra, 'They couldn't screw up a salad, could they?' With crispy chicken and ranch in tow, I made my way to a table to satisfy a craving. The term "crispy" must only be relative at Hamburger University. In fact, I had to go back up to retrieve a knife in order to finish cutting the rubber chicken patty which was only slightly perforated by the McChicken jockey.
It was bad. Ronald, I gave you a chance again but you did me wrong. The whole experience left me screaming, "How many corners do you have to cut to make lettuce and chicken taste horrible!?"
The McDonald's employees responded as one would expect when a customer becomes irate from poorly prepared food. Yes, they continued to mumble nonsense into their shirt collars while ignoring the world around them.
I've been trying to eat more vegetables lately. The fine ladies at Applebee's are aware of this fact because I call them from time to time on my way home. Since apple starts with an A, Applebee's is only 2 cell button presses and 15 minutes away from serving up a well-prepared, non-vulcanized salad.
Normally everything goes smoothly with the restaurant curb-side pickup. Pleasantries are exchanged such as, "Hey aren't you the freak that ordered here yesterday?" Yes, I haven't been to the grocery store in months.
The last time I picked up food this was written on my receipt:
That smiley face was drawn by a psychologist's dream patient.
The way I read it, this says, "Number sevens help us =)" I can't shake the thought that I may have misread this message though. Could the Applebee's girls have been sending a secret message? Were there 7 armed robbers in there and they needed help? Or was it an innocent message informing us that they were running desperately low on $7 bills?
Perhaps it was my 7th visit and they simply expressing appreciation. I am in the #7 Club. It is disturbing that they would keep track of that though.
I'll feel a lot better to find out that they were robbed. Otherwise this note is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
posted by Ghengis @ 11:39 PM,
,
Buy War Bonds
Thursday, August 04, 2005
It's been HOT out lately. Driving past a pizza shop I saw a sign that said, "Beat the heat! Try our Pizza Lunch Buffet!" Now I don't know what your definition of beating the heat is, but usually the last thing I want to do when it's 95 degrees outside is go inside an air conditioned building to clog my pores with mom and pop's grease pie. While piling each plate up to get your $5.99 worth, you have to keep in mind that you have to return to the summer swelter with the dough and cheese churning around in your stomach. Beat the heat!
Long ago, when I worked construction, one of the other workers swore by drinking hot drinks on hot days and cold drinks on cold days. "It gets you acclimated to the environment and you sweat less..." While he delivered his persuasive speech I snuck up behind him and pulled on his hair. His face tore away revealing the evil lizard man and 'sinister dictator', Cobra Commander. As it turns out, the bank building we were building was actually Cobra's newest staging grounds for launching their dastardly moon destroying device designed to stop the ocean tides so that Ship Wreak would lose track of time when laying out on the beach and get a killer sunburn. Somehow I knew there was a reason why my boss wouldn't let me work near the "elevator shaft".
Anyway, there were a lot of cars parked in front of the pizza buffet. The Beat the Heat sign must have been working. Why isn't everyone trying the 'beat the heat' ploy?
Bush: Beat the heat with the nomination of John Bolton!
Teacher: Beat the heat by taking turns having sex with your students!
NASA: Beat the heat by fixing the heat shield! (I hope it works)
I could be convinced to do anything if someone tells me it may temporarily cool off this summer heat.
Actually, I am fairly sure if the heat trick works, you can simply show a little bit of empathy and understanding and can convince people to do anything by playing on the desire for relief.
Depressed? Why not search for audio files on the internet?
Up to your eyeballs in debt? Jennifer Anniston is looking for a good man.
Having a bad hair day? Join the army!
Me and hundreds of thousands of guys agree. We wouldn't treat you like Brad did, baby.
As for Cobra Commander. You do not have anything to worry about. He is safely being held captive in my apartm- Uh oh. I now live in that house I bought.
We are not going to get our deposit back.
We are not going to get our deposit back.
posted by Ghengis @ 10:23 PM,
,
