Regular Day

The drinking had started early that day. By early, I meant when I awoke, mid-afternoon, fuzzy from the libations I had partaken of the night before. I tossed off the blanket haphazardly, barely registering the tinkling sound as the bottles on the coffee table fell against each other. It didn’t matter – they were empty. Hell, the way I felt nothing mattered. I stumbled to the bathroom to do the morning duties.

Within a matter of minutes, I was once again dressed to kill in the style if Me: T-shirt, denim shorts, Budweiser ball cap and sandals. Without this essential gear, I could not relax properly. I loaded the pockets with the usual small change, wallet, cell, keys, and lighter. The lighter was important. I had a bad habit of leaving them at the bar, causing me no end of fits when trying to smoke that last cigarette on the way home late at night. The other half of the time, I leave them in the car, so I know where they are, and the sun heats them up until they explode. I once actually saw the small fireball as I approached the car one summer day. I am surprised that the car has not caught fire yet.

‘What are the plans today?’ I ask myself. ‘Reading day or other? I think I’ll read today.’ I look out in the car to see if the current novel I am enjoying is still in there, or if I had taken it in. It’s there, cool. Nothing else to wait for, so I start down the road to Jimbo’s.

How do you define a good bar? I have spent years deciding what is most important to myself, and searching for the “perfect bar” which I know will never be found. Or worse, it will be found and going out of business/closed down/bought out the next day. I like the more “Little hole in the wall” places, where the crowd is usually gray/silver headed gentlemen, where the beer is priced decently, and they pour you a double when you order a shot. Where the bartender knows what everyone there drinks, and doesn’t have to ask. And most importantly, everyone leaves you alone unless you join their conversation. Perfect ambiance for reading the novel.

After a few hours (more like 6), a change in the bartender shift, two trips to the restroom, half a pack of cigarettes, and too many drinks later (I lost count around 8) it’s time to head out. I tab out, and go sit in the car wondering what am I doing now…. Home or another bar? Karaoke starts at 9 up the road…. But I am sort of tired. Home is straight down the road about 4 miles…. But this place is only a mile – just one mile – up the other road. New meaning to the phrase “Decisions, Decisions, Decisions”, eh?

Okay, home it is. I start the car and turn down the road towards the abode. I carefully thread the car into the drive, missing both the garbage can and the post for the carport. Shut down the engine, turn off the lights, and I sit there for a moment. Good night or bad night? Let’s see how fast I fall asleep and think about it in the morning. I get out of the car, stumble to the door, and enter the house. I lock the door and head to the couch, making a mental note to clean up the mess of bottles in the morning. I sort through the mess of empty Cheet-o’s bags, Jack Daniels bottles, ashtrays with the cigarette butts overflowing, and miscellaneous ashes that never made it to the ashtray. There it is, the fabled TV remote. Power is pressed and the large screen comes alive in bright colors on some infomercial for better abs by pretending to ski. Just four easy payments, and if you order now… Quickly I peruse through the available channels to discover there is nothing of interest with which to entertain myself. Off goes the television, and the overhead light. Damn! Will need to replace that bulb tomorrow. I lay back and light one up.

Inhale.

Exhale.

‘Yeah’, I say to myself. ‘Wasn’t a good day. Wasn’t a bad day. Just another day.’