And We Moved On...
My office building is a relic of no particular era really. In summer, the heat blows freely. In winter, the AC is potent. I’ve seen people on the second floor bundled in sweaters, and draped in blankets, while, on the same day, the fifth floor occupants, barely clothed, are bathed in sheens of perspiration. Climate control my ass. The past two days though have combined to bring a previously unheard of consistency to our little parcel in Metrocenter. A blown AC unit is the apparent culprit. Fucking sweltering—on all five floors. The Powers convened yesterday and appraised the situation:
Vice President: “I’m hot. Are you hot?”
Assistant Vice President: “Yeah. I’m a little hot, I guess. Especially if you are.”
Vice President: Well, it’s a little warm. Let’s give it a couple hours and see if we’re still hot.
They closed the office at 1:30. I went for a beer and then home.
When I arrived at work at 8:00 this morning, I was back aboard the slow train to Haiti. The lights were dimmed in an attempt to stave off the heat. While that may appear clever, it’s not as effective as you might think. The Powers reconvened:
Vice President: “I’m hot. Are you hot?”
Assistant Vice President: “Yeah. I’m a little hot, I guess. Especially if you are.”
Vice President: Well, it’s a little warm. Let’s give it a couple hours and see if we’re still hot.
They closed the office at high noon. I went for a beer.
Since we are both in dire financial straits, it made perfect sense for M. and I to go to Jonathan’s and drink our lunch. Actually, it was a good move for my mental health. Two-for-one draughts are rarely bad. Today, they were particularly good. And M.’s company was more needed than I realized. We shot the shit about this and that. Marveled at the beautiful bartender. Tried to behave. Moved to weightier subjects without getting too philosophical. A friend of ours from work recently suffered a devastating loss—the bone-deep kind that could make a sane man not. We touched on it briefly and moved on. Though it was nearly tangible, by moving on we could pretend it was not there. And that’s what we needed to do if for only today. Our talk moved to finances and character assessments of each other, Harley-Davidsons, Ferraris, guitars, The Cohen Brothers, Days of Thunder. We touched upon it all—to include a mutual and unattractive penchant for self-loathing. And we moved on. We finished up with a hefty shot of Woodford. In the splash of a glass, our bartender had become even more beautiful. We settled up. M. picked up his Taylor that he’d brought in from the car (to protect it from the heat) and we strolled the narrow hallway to outside, me behind him. I’ll have to tell him tomorrow how very Nashville he looked carrying that guitar case as naturally as someone else might carry a laptop or a twelve-pack. We said goodbye without shaking hands and were gone.
The Honda clutch-slipped me to Green Hills and Uptown’s Smoke Shop where I laid out more money that I don’t have. I’ve heard Uptown’s referred to as one of the premiere smoke shops in the country. I’ve been there many, many times and don’t doubt it.
L. picked up Emerson from daycare today. I know that pleased him. They went to McDonalds. I was lying down when he came in. His smile washed over me as he said, “Hi, Daddy!” I thought about my day. The stifling heat of my office building. The rare leisure of sitting at a bar in the middle of the day. Drinking beer with a friend whom I respect. And I thought of my other friend from work and of his loss. I drew Emerson close and held him a little tighter than usual.
He’s a patient boy and seems to know when I need to do that.
Vice President: “I’m hot. Are you hot?”
Assistant Vice President: “Yeah. I’m a little hot, I guess. Especially if you are.”
Vice President: Well, it’s a little warm. Let’s give it a couple hours and see if we’re still hot.
They closed the office at 1:30. I went for a beer and then home.
When I arrived at work at 8:00 this morning, I was back aboard the slow train to Haiti. The lights were dimmed in an attempt to stave off the heat. While that may appear clever, it’s not as effective as you might think. The Powers reconvened:
Vice President: “I’m hot. Are you hot?”
Assistant Vice President: “Yeah. I’m a little hot, I guess. Especially if you are.”
Vice President: Well, it’s a little warm. Let’s give it a couple hours and see if we’re still hot.
They closed the office at high noon. I went for a beer.
Since we are both in dire financial straits, it made perfect sense for M. and I to go to Jonathan’s and drink our lunch. Actually, it was a good move for my mental health. Two-for-one draughts are rarely bad. Today, they were particularly good. And M.’s company was more needed than I realized. We shot the shit about this and that. Marveled at the beautiful bartender. Tried to behave. Moved to weightier subjects without getting too philosophical. A friend of ours from work recently suffered a devastating loss—the bone-deep kind that could make a sane man not. We touched on it briefly and moved on. Though it was nearly tangible, by moving on we could pretend it was not there. And that’s what we needed to do if for only today. Our talk moved to finances and character assessments of each other, Harley-Davidsons, Ferraris, guitars, The Cohen Brothers, Days of Thunder. We touched upon it all—to include a mutual and unattractive penchant for self-loathing. And we moved on. We finished up with a hefty shot of Woodford. In the splash of a glass, our bartender had become even more beautiful. We settled up. M. picked up his Taylor that he’d brought in from the car (to protect it from the heat) and we strolled the narrow hallway to outside, me behind him. I’ll have to tell him tomorrow how very Nashville he looked carrying that guitar case as naturally as someone else might carry a laptop or a twelve-pack. We said goodbye without shaking hands and were gone.
The Honda clutch-slipped me to Green Hills and Uptown’s Smoke Shop where I laid out more money that I don’t have. I’ve heard Uptown’s referred to as one of the premiere smoke shops in the country. I’ve been there many, many times and don’t doubt it.
L. picked up Emerson from daycare today. I know that pleased him. They went to McDonalds. I was lying down when he came in. His smile washed over me as he said, “Hi, Daddy!” I thought about my day. The stifling heat of my office building. The rare leisure of sitting at a bar in the middle of the day. Drinking beer with a friend whom I respect. And I thought of my other friend from work and of his loss. I drew Emerson close and held him a little tighter than usual.
He’s a patient boy and seems to know when I need to do that.
posted by Ryan at 10:46 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home