Waxing With Chinaski

Finally, a little scratch in my pocket.

I stop at the corner tap for a respite. I couldn't see sitting inside these four walls immediately after work.

It's okay. It feels nice. Hello, old friends. Hello, corner stool. Hello regulars. They have my ashtray stored and awaiting my return. I don't even have to order, the bartender remembers. It's nice.

The thing about money is that there's always too much or not enough. I think some asshole wrote something about it a long time ago.

The ball game is on the television. Someone is even playing decent music on the jukebox for a change. The songs that I would have picked. My team is winning, and there's not much chance of the opposing team catching up. Such are things that make life livable. Or at least seemingly so.

And then she walks in. With a friend.

A solid country girl. I can tell the type just by studying her for fifteen seconds. Raised by rednecks, but she doesn't want that life. She knows what I know, which isn't much, but is still enough to get by without getting choked out. An air of practicality and starkness floating just beneath the survivalist front. Real. Fun-loving. Beautiful.


We play eye games for a few minutes across the bar. Her friend slides over a seat and motions me down. I pick up my drink and saunter down.

I could have stared into her eyes for an eternity and been content with life forever. She speaks. I laugh. I don't remember what she said but it was perfect. She is witty, too. Things are looking really up all of a sudden.

And then I freeze up. I can't find the words that I want. I can't find anything. I'm not drunk. I'm not high. I'm just me. Just another scumbag loose in the freak kingdom. Nothing.

I have been playing this rock and roll card for along time. Suddenly, it feels like I have a losing hand.

I try to think of things to say. Anything. Any normal thing that would create a semblance of conversation. I draw a blank. I have heard it all before. I have said it all before. I stare at the ball game on the television. I freeze.

I spend the last of my scratch buying us shots of bourbon. I make inane jokes about the enviroment of the pub. It's not what I want to say.

My chest starts slamming. Not now, please, not now.

Too late. Anxiety attack.

I focus on my drink and tell myself over and over that I am okay, that the room isn't going to implode. Everything right flashed through my head at a million miles per hour. Everything wrong looms large in my head like an oozing popsicle dropped on a hot Arizona Safeway parking lot. I hear someone crying. It's me.

Of course, the girl is not impressed. I make a joke about how I am betting against the winning team. My life savings, I say.

I get up and walk out of the bar onto the street. There is a cop busting a guy for a few dollars worth of bad gear.

I light a cigarette and look back into the bar. Some other guy is sitting where I was, lighting her cigarette.

I walk home and am now writing this.

There are ups and there are downs, and here is to hoping life always finds you up, my friend.