Where one ramble leads to another...
"Come over tomorrow night and help us unload the air hockey table," I told Nash on Wednesday. "Then we'll drink beer and play a few rounds." So he passed the word to Bob, who gladly agreed to come. Both arrived on time, unaware that the table had to be ASSEMBLED too. "What the fuck?" Nash said after spying the box of over two hundred screws. "This is going to take all night!" And it did. The boys were still piecing together the legs when I fell asleep at eleven. I woke up an hour later to Hoop shaking me. "It's done, baby!" He hissed in my ear. So I shuffled out to the garage, kicked their asses in a couple games, and went to bed.
To be fair, Bob was behaving as if he'd never played air hockey before, swinging his pusher around like a gorilla with a broken arm. The dogs were so freaked out by his antics that they attacked him. Jazzi, the dog who loves everyone, actually seemed to be enjoying mauling his shoe. I guess even dogs have breaking points. Bob's a cool guy to hang out with... If you're human. He'll do anything you dare him to do. ANYTHING. The boy seems to live solely for the purpose of entertaining us. We have to reign ourselves in from daring him to do things that might get us in trouble. Because once you start Bob, there's no turning him off.
The truly odd thing about Bob is that he's all impulse and no thought. He lies for no reason at all. He'll say he's drunk when he's not. He'll bail because he "just got a call," when it's obvious that his phone hasn't rang all night. You'll call him for days only to have him tell you that his phone just got cut off. "Then how am I talking to you now?" You'll say. Then he'll sputter and exclaim, "Well look at that!" Nash met Bob when they were just old enough to have jobs. Bob was sleeping in a maintenance closet. They were both fired a few months later. The next job they got together was at the movie theater. The night they started was the night I quit.
The whole crew quit that night, actually. Corporate had sent a mole to scout out our operation. Apparently our drug dealing manager was not to their liking. WE loved her just fine though. In between sets she would meet us out back with a joint and a bucket of popcorn. Bob had just walked into the back room to clock in. "Good luck tonight," I told him as I peeled off my company-issue shirt and vest. I tossed it to him, standing there in nothing more than my bra and black pants. "Where are you going?" He asked us. I slipped a t-shirt on. "We're out of here, man. They just fired Donna."
Nash was working the ticket counter when we left. Little did I know I'd be engaged to his brother seven years later. We came back that night with free ticket passes. "How's it going?" We giggled to the only two guys on staff. Nash just glared at us. Later that night my friend T, also a former movie theater employee, tried to steal the "Bedazzled" poster for me. I'd had it earmarked for my Mom, an avid Brendan Fraser fan. I was supposed to be lookout. Unfortunately for T, the mole had locked up the cases. After a bit of struggle, the frame broke under her prying fingers, sending the hard plastic cover crashing to the ground. I looked back to see T fleeing, the poster waving behind her like a flag.
I've always kept odd company. It's not intentional... To my knowledge. One of my current friends, also a coworker, is a 31 year old spinster. Not my label. Hers. You'd think a woman's ovaries dry up at thirty, listening to her. For the last four years her mission has been to land herself a husband. I feel bad for all the men that make a pit stop in her bed. This newest love, she's been dating him for two months, barely made it through Christmas alive. He bought her a new washer and dryer, a new flat screen TV, and an alarm system for the trailer she's renting. Still... She was convinced he was getting her an engagement ring. "There's a jewelry box under the tree!" She insisted repeatedly.
Christmas Eve she told me, "If it's not a ring, I'm going to be SO mad." "Do you hear yourself?" I asked her. "You're fucking crazy." She sent me a text on Monday night. "It was a frog paperweight." I couldn't stop laughing. I literally had to pull off the road for a moment. "Poor girl," I wrote back. "You really are your own worst enemy." She was fine again on Wednesday morning. "Maybe for Valentines," she told me cheerfully. "He could put it in a box of chocolates." I don't think I'm going to invite her to our wedding. I don't think it would be good for her mental health. She might kill the other women vying for the bouquet.
Hope you have a great weekend!