It doesn't matter how positive your outlook usually is. It doesn't matter how hopeful you are for your future. And please, don't tell me how you've successfully embraced your inner chi and can clearly picture yourself achieving your stated goal some time in the near future, because that too, is insignificant to a plain and simple fact of human nature: Every once in a while, you will feel defeated. Regardless of how long you've had a run of "happy vibe days", you will, suddenly and without warning, have a bad day. Encounter a problem. Hit a bump in the road. Get a snag in your mental nylons. (Yes, you have mental nylons. Everybody does. Hope that didn't bum you out.)
You could be zooming through your week, experiencing nothing but happiness after amazing happiness ~ kicking ass at work and charming the hell out of everyone you meet. Maybe you even found a twenty dollar bill in that old pair of pants you finally just fit back into for the first time in over two years! What's that? You're up for a promotion? And that annoying neighbor who was throwing loud parties every other night just sold his house to an old woman who likes to go to bed at 8:30 pm? Fantastic!
Then...
Well, there's always a "then...", isn't there? "Then..." could be anything. Something could have unexpectedly broken, either down, up, or out, (perhaps all three at once), and your immediate response is to blame yourself for not being prepared for it, and/or not being able to fix it.
Maybe you ran into or heard about an friend/acquaintance/co-worker who's had an even more impressive string of good days, and it depresses you ~ for a few reasons. One, that it's not happening to you. Two, that it COULD have been happening to you, but you chose to do something different. Three, it would be wrong to kill them.
These kind of bumps are part of the Human Experience, or at least they should be. If you walk away from this essay with only one lesson, let it be that it's best to avoid people who never experience self-doubt. Why? Because they are the type of people who will insist that they are always right, or, they are liars.
The bottom line is, it's okay to doubt ourselves, because when we do that, we are in essence questioning our choices, and that's a good thing. "Am I an idiot because I don't know how to fix our plumbing issues, or is it perfectly okay to hire someone else to do the job because I can't know everything, and am sort of good at other things that a plumber might not be?" (Full disclosure ~ we are currently having a minor plumbing issue at the house. Now, back to the story...)
The problems with bumps are that bigger problems often result as a consequence of the bumps. We doubt ourselves and then wind up doing something very stupid as a form of subconscious punishment. We give the bump of doubt more weight than all of the positives that have come and gone over a much longer span of time. At the risk of sounding like a speaker at a self-help seminar, don't let that happen to yourself. We're better than that. When you have a bump, when you are absorbed in self-deprecating doubt, realize that we all go through that every now and again. And most importantly, stand up for yourself. Be the defending attorney rather than the prosecutor.
Even the very best baseball and basketball teams lose a few games every season. (Yes, I know about the '72 Dolphins, but unless you expect your lifespan to be the equivalent of a fourteen game football season, they do not adequately fit into my metaphor). We are all going to lose a few. We are all going to hit a slump. Part of the success of a person is measured in how they overcome their own personal hardships.
But you all knew that already, didn't you?
Excuse me while I go call a plumber.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
$20,000 x 1,000,000
(I originally posted this on Facebook, but thought I should include it here, as well.)
For those of you who are, or ever were, married, please consider for a moment how much money the total endeavor cost you and your spouse. From beginning to end. Just to touch on the highlights, there was:
The rings, (bride and groom, engagement and wedding). The invitations. The bridal gown. The tuxedo. The shoes! The flowers. The hair and makeup costs. The rehearsal dinner. Gifts for the bridal party. The limo. The church, (or other venue). The reception hall. The photographer. The DJ. The food and drinks. The hotel rooms. The honeymoon, (hotel, airfare, food, etc.). New clothes for the honeymoon....
Add to that the cost of gas, stamps, food and drinks during the planning, and the dozens of other things I missed, and it quickly adds up to often times astoundingly high numbers.
Now, take the estimated total cost of ONE wedding, (to be safe, let's lowball it at $20,000), and multiply it by hundreds of thousands, possibly even millions, over the course of a couple years. If your calculator works like mine, it will arrive at $20 BILLION! Isn't that amazing? And that's just the expenses of the couple getting married! Toss in the cost of the dresses and tuxedos for the people who stood up in the wedding, hotel and airfare for people coming in from out of town, along with all the money spent by all the other guests, and the numbers are astronomic!
That is the amount of money that could be added to our economy over the next few years if gay marriage were legalized.
Complain all you want about the sanctity of marriage being destroyed, (which I personally think to be bullshit), but while married heterosexual couples are out having affairs and getting divorced, (and thereby destroying the sanctity of marriage), the money generated from these loving people being allowed to marry each other could help many, many Americans in need.
It's that simple.
Now let's talk about pot...
For those of you who are, or ever were, married, please consider for a moment how much money the total endeavor cost you and your spouse. From beginning to end. Just to touch on the highlights, there was:
The rings, (bride and groom, engagement and wedding). The invitations. The bridal gown. The tuxedo. The shoes! The flowers. The hair and makeup costs. The rehearsal dinner. Gifts for the bridal party. The limo. The church, (or other venue). The reception hall. The photographer. The DJ. The food and drinks. The hotel rooms. The honeymoon, (hotel, airfare, food, etc.). New clothes for the honeymoon....
Add to that the cost of gas, stamps, food and drinks during the planning, and the dozens of other things I missed, and it quickly adds up to often times astoundingly high numbers.
Now, take the estimated total cost of ONE wedding, (to be safe, let's lowball it at $20,000), and multiply it by hundreds of thousands, possibly even millions, over the course of a couple years. If your calculator works like mine, it will arrive at $20 BILLION! Isn't that amazing? And that's just the expenses of the couple getting married! Toss in the cost of the dresses and tuxedos for the people who stood up in the wedding, hotel and airfare for people coming in from out of town, along with all the money spent by all the other guests, and the numbers are astronomic!
That is the amount of money that could be added to our economy over the next few years if gay marriage were legalized.
Complain all you want about the sanctity of marriage being destroyed, (which I personally think to be bullshit), but while married heterosexual couples are out having affairs and getting divorced, (and thereby destroying the sanctity of marriage), the money generated from these loving people being allowed to marry each other could help many, many Americans in need.
It's that simple.
Now let's talk about pot...
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Last Call
(Editor's Note: I found this story when I came across the three Roy Fleming pieces. It was written around the same time period, but, as you will soon see, it has nothing to do with Roy. Then again, his mother is a bartender, so if I was looking for a connection, it could be made, but at the time this was written, it wasn't in my plans.)
LAST CALL
It seems like every week or so I'm pickin' some what you'd call arbitrary day in the future that I'm gonna change somethin' in my life. I'll be sittin' there in Flannigan's and there'll be Ray or Coots or Jimmy C. or anybody, all havin' a beer watchin' a game and I'll go, "Wednesday! Wednesday I'm gonna stop smokin'!" Or, "Mondays 'n Tuesdays I ain't gonna drink! Or at least cut back." And everyone that hears me laughs or smiles and calls me "Lyin' Pete". Most a the time no one hears me though, 'cause sometimes I maybe just mumble it ta myself 'cause I ain't so sure if the day I picked is a good one ta start just yet. And I tell 'ya, most a them ain't good 'cause it seems like something's always comin' up. But no one understands when I tell 'em that. 'Cept Wally. Wally knew. Wally knew. Great guy, Wally.
Wally'd plan a lot, too. We'd sit next ta each other, sippin' our beers talkin' how we'd quit the smokes and the booze and blow outta the city and get jobs on a train, like be a porter or somethin', so we could go cross country 'n find the perfect place ta live. Only problem was at the end a the night, I always wanted ta live in the mountains, and Wally'd always want ta live in the desert. We'd get ta yellin' at each other, callin' each other the filthiest a names, all in fun mind you, it was all in fun, then Phil the bartender'd say somethin' like, "Look at you two here, Huey and Dewey, fighting' over where yer gonna live when 'yas can't even pick a day between 'ya ta stop smokin' 'n drinkin' ta start it all!" Then we'd all get ta laughin' and someone'd buy a shot for us.
Well, the whole reason I'm bringin' this up is 'cause that was the first thing that I thought a when I walked inta Flannigan's 'n Sandy the day bartender told me Wally was dead. Really it was the second thing, 'cause the first thing I did was I looked over a couple a stools down where we'd usually sit and think it was a joke. There's a different crowd during the day, old-timers mostly, and it's a well known fact they don't like what we call the night crowd. I don't know why. Maybe we leave some sorta smell for them in the mornin' that they don't like, or like Coots once said, maybe they're jealous 'cause we're younger and can stay up later. Whatever it is, they got somethin' against us. I don't know what, 'cause no one's talkin'. You'd think they'd cut me a break though, 'cause even though I'm more of an official night crowder, I do get there early enough most days ta sip a couple with them before they leave. But, like I said, they don't like us, so I figured the Wally's dead thing ta be some sick joke. So I just smiled after a minute and said, "Right. What's the gag? I ain't payin' his tab, if that's what yer gettin' at." And I drop a twenty on the bar and order my usual draft.
Only Sandy didn't move. And if she wasn't the old witch I thought her ta be, I'd swear she was gonna start cryin'.
"I'm tellin' 'ya, he's dead. It's no gag. His Ma just called an hour ago. Wake's over at Greer's on Fifty-ninth."
All of a sudden, I was, I don't know, groggy. I guess that's what you'd call it. Like, I don't know, hitting yer head not hard enough ta go out, but just hard enough ta not know where ya' are for a few minutes. Sandy poured me a Bud 'n a shot a Wild Turkey 'n whispered, "It's on me." If this was a joke, it was a pretty big one, 'cause she ain't never give me nothin' before, and believe me, Turkey's a pretty big deal.
I didn't know what ta say. My arms started ta hurt like they was goin' numb, so I let go a the bar 'n sat down on my stool. But in my head, 'ya know, up in my head, I couldn't feel nothin'. It just felt empty. I didn't know what ta think or feel. I was, you know, what I said before. Groggy. Stunned. I don't know how long I stared at that shot before I grabbed it 'n threw it back, but it's when I tasted it that I started ta think a the mountains 'n the desert 'cause it was just last night that Wally 'n me closed the place with the same fight. He still wanted the desert 'n I still wanted the mountains. Man, the names we were callin' each other. We even picked next Thursday ta quit smokin' 'n cut back on the booze, 'cause there wasn't a game that night. That's what's hard about pickin' days in the summer. Baseball's on every night just about, 'n when we'd watch our team look like they're gonna blow another one, we'd get ta feelin' all tense and start yellin', and we'd smoke and drink even more than usual. That's why I couldn't believe it, 'cause a last night. It was fourteen hours ago we was together and he seemed fine. Drunk, but fine.
So I says ta her, I says ta Sandy, "How'd he die?" I was all worried that she was gonna say somethin' like he had a heart attack, or it was his liver, or somethin'. 'Cause if it was 'cause we ain't never picked a day before, and it came back ta haunt him, I don't know what I'd do. And, he was my age, thirty-seven, maybe younger. That didn't sit right, either. But she didn't say any a that.
"Hit by a truck. This mornin' on his way to the bank to cash his disability check."
Then about ten stools down this bastard I can't stand Tom Harris starts laughin', so I look over at him.
"Tell 'em what kinda truck!" he says. Sandy just give 'em a dirty look and turned away. There were only four other guys in there, like I said, all old-timers, George, Harry, Frank, and Mr. Mulrooney, and they all looked away, too.
"You know what hit 'em?" Harris says.
I just kept lookin' at him. "A truck. That's what Sandy says, right?"
Sandy just sipped her gin 'n tonic 'n stayed shut up.
"Not just any truck!" he says. "A Salvation Army truck! Ain't that a scream? A Salvation Army truck! You believe it?"
Like I said, I don't like this guy Harris. A real clown. Thinks he's Jay Leno, or somethin', which he ain't 'cause I ain't never laughed at anything he said even though some people do. But I thought this was too much, even for him, to be makin' jokes about Wally after bein' dead for just half a day.
Sandy musta known what I was thinkin', 'cause she looked at me all sorry-eyed and nodded, so I guess it was true, but Harris kept laughin' anyway.
"They said they had ta hit 'em! Stock was runnin' low, 'n they needed some a their old clothes back!"
Mr. Mulrooney mumbled at him to shut up, and "You're not funny, Harris," is what I told him.
"Like I said, I'm just quotin' fact," is what he says back. And he's got that kinda grin, the kind that as soon as you see it, you want ta smack it off his face. And I woulda too, and he knows it, if it wasn't for my bum leg. I've been on disability myself for over a year with the city since I fell off the side a the garbage truck during my route. She hit a pothole in an alley 'n I lost my grip 'n fell underneath 'n got smashed by a tire. If one a the guys hadn't yelled ta Carlos the driver ta stop, it woulda ran tight over the whole leg the way i was layin', and I'll give 'ya odds I woulda lost it. So now, no lie, my left knee and ankle will just flare up on me, sometimes when I'm just goin' to the bathroom. My lawyer says I'm not s'posed to be doin' anything what you call strenuous until 'til after the lawsuit. He says, he says after his cut, I'll be comfortable for life. Money-wise, that is. Who knows if my leg'll ever feel comfortable again. Well, that money's what was gonna set me up in the mountains. Or the desert. Whenever the hell it comes.
Disability's another thing Wally 'n me had in common. He was shot by a cop. While he was sleeping. Who ever heard a anything like that? He was in his own apartment, passed out in bed, when about five in the morning or so, the cops bust in the door of his next door neighbor. I don't know what the guy did, Wally said he only met him a few times, never much of a talker, but the cops say he pulled a gun on them, so they shot at him. 'Cept, one a the cops missed, and missed bad. Two bullets went through the wall and hit Wally. One went in his right hip, the other tore completely through his upper arm and went inta his chest. Just missed his heart by an inch, is what they say. It was in the papers. He was gonna have the story framed, but he never got around to it. Some big shot in the department tried ta say it was just friendly fire. Wally'd say, "Nothing friendly 'bout nearly gettin' shot ta death while yer sleepin'!" I tell 'ya, sometimes he'd play up that shoulder 'n hip like they was gonna fall off when he'd see the doctor, which didn't really make any difference, 'cause he was set-up for life after the settlement. His lawyer got him a big lump payment, plus a check every week for the rest of his life. Which I guess, stopped today. I don't know.
Sandy poured me another shot 'n a beer, then took my twenty and give me back twenty in change. That was her way a givin' me a freebie without lettin' on ta everyone what she's doin'. But, believe me, it was no secret. Everyone knew. Both Mr. Mulrooney and Frank said more than once that they was real sorry 'cause they knew how much we got along. Harris just kept up with his wise mouth stuff. "Remember that green striped short sleeved shirt he had? I liked that. Maybe tomorrow I'll go pick it up for half a buck." They'd tell him ta shut his mouth, but he wouldn't listen. We got a couple reasons why he's the way he is. He usta be a night guy like us, then his hours changed, and now he hasta come in drinkin' durin' the day. That might be one thing, him havin' ta sit with all the old guys. The other is, he hasta work and we don't, so he's kinda spiteful. And if either one were really the case, he'd be mad at more than half a the people who hang out here. Why he's all over us is beyond me.
He was still layin' inta Wally when the regular night crew started comin' in. None a them knew and Phil, who took over for Sandy, told 'em when they came in. They'd look over at me first thing when they heard, and they'd set me up with a couple drinks. I couldn't down 'em fast enough. No matter how much I drank, there'd always be about another fifteen white chips sittin' in front a me waitin' to be cashed in. By now, Harris is half in the bag, and says somethin' else about Wally. Something like, "It certainly was salvation for me!", whatever the hell that means, when Big Steve Brady stands up 'n says, "If you don't get outta here now, I'm gonna make sure you're laying in the room across the hall from Wally at Greer's!" Harris was about ta say somethin' when Big Steve looks at him real fierce and says, "Closed casket." Oh man, that scared the crap outta everyone in the room. Harris didn't say anything. He just pocketed his change and split. You shoulda heard the room after. Everyone cheered and laughed. "Aw right Big Steve!" half of 'em yelled. The other half were laughin', "Closed casket!" Then Big Steve comes over 'n pats me on the back. I don't know if anyone seen it, but that's the way Big Steve is. He takes care a people he likes, and he liked Wally 'n me. Closed casket. I ain't never heard a anything like that before. That even scared me. No kidding.
All the regulars were there 'n the place was pretty crowded for a Tuesday night. I heard Phil say to Jimmy C., "Business is great. One a yous guys should die every week!" They looked over at me, and I'm laughin', "Let's kill Harris next! That'll pack 'em in!"
"Who'll mourn him?" this guy Leo screams.
"No one!" I says. I says, "We'll just be happy to get rid a him!" Biggest laugh I ever got in there. That one got me even more chips. "Wally's bein' dead's really gettin' me loaded," I mumble to myself. And Phil hears me.
"Don't get too faced," he says ta me. That's one a his favorites - don't get too faced. "You wanna make it to the wake in one piece tomorrow."
"I'll be there," I says. "No matter."
"Hey, Pete," Big Steve says. "'Ya need a ride tomorrow?"
I had a mouthful a beer, so I swallow and go, "Nah. I'll just take the bus." Then I take another sip, right?
Then this guy Mickey D. goes, "Be careful crossing the street!"
Now, the whole place went nuts, and I just about choked on that beer. "Just spit it out!" Coots goes. "What a 'ya savin' it for? 'Ya got twenty more coming anyway!"
I started coughin' from laughin' so hard, and I couldn't swallow the damn thing, so Big Steve, like I said, always takin' care a people, slaps me on the back, like I'm some screwed up old TV set. I'm just lucky beer was the only thing that come outta my mouth he hit me so hard. But I'm laughin'. So hard there's tears comin' outta my eyes. Big Steve gives me a pat on the back after. A soft one.
Before we know it, Phil's flickin' the lights and screamin', "Last call! 'Ya hear me? Last call!" Well, we all get ta moanin' just like we do every other night he does it, but this time he starts wavin' his arms at us ta all be quiet.
"Listen," he goes real loud. "Listen. If you alls can keep yer mouth shut, the last round'll be on me."
That shut everyone up, I'll tell 'ya that. Sure did shut 'em up. And quick.
Then Jimmy C. goes, "Hey Pete," he goes. "You need a wheelbarrow to carry those chips home?"
"Nah," I go. "Stick 'em in my pocket," is what I says.
So when Phil's pouring my last shot 'n a beer, he goes, "Who yous gonna argue wit anymore?"
"Argue?" I says. And I'm thinkin', "Who do I argues wit?"
"Yeah, argue," he says. "All that mountain and desert stuff. You gots no one ta bicker wit anymore. You jus gonna go ta the mountains on yer own now?"
"Yeah. I dunno. Guess I could, huh? Whenever that settlement come in."
Then Ray lifts up his beer and goes, "Here's ta Wally! Wherever he is, heaven or hell, I'll tell 'ya one thing - it's looks better than this place!"
We all laughed 'n took a drink.
"Yes sir," Phil goes. "It's gonna get lonely around here wit out you two goin' off on each other."
Then Coots looks at me and goes, "Aww, you guys was all messed up anyways."
"How's that that we're all messed up?" I says.
"You had it all wrong, is what I say," Coots goes. "Mountains and desert. The ocean's where 'ya should go!"
"The ocean!" I says, and I had ta laugh. I go, "'Ya got hurricanes down there! And floods!"
Coots yells back, "Yer nuts! Floods? There's no floods! When you ever hear a the ocean flooding?"
"Oh, there's floods!" I says. "And mudslides! Floods and mudslides!" I scream at 'em. Old Coots, he doesn't watch news a lot. So, "Watch the news!" is what I says to 'em.
"There's no mud at the ocean! Mud's in the mountains! Where you wanna go!"
"No no no no no!" I go. "No ocean for me," I go. "'Ya got the hurricanes," I go. "And the floods!"
"Here we go again," says Phil, and he starts ta laughin', 'n so does everybody else.
The ocean. Geez. I just had to laugh. Some people just don't get it, you know? I pounded my beer and collected up my chips.
Disability's another thing Wally 'n me had in common. He was shot by a cop. While he was sleeping. Who ever heard a anything like that? He was in his own apartment, passed out in bed, when about five in the morning or so, the cops bust in the door of his next door neighbor. I don't know what the guy did, Wally said he only met him a few times, never much of a talker, but the cops say he pulled a gun on them, so they shot at him. 'Cept, one a the cops missed, and missed bad. Two bullets went through the wall and hit Wally. One went in his right hip, the other tore completely through his upper arm and went inta his chest. Just missed his heart by an inch, is what they say. It was in the papers. He was gonna have the story framed, but he never got around to it. Some big shot in the department tried ta say it was just friendly fire. Wally'd say, "Nothing friendly 'bout nearly gettin' shot ta death while yer sleepin'!" I tell 'ya, sometimes he'd play up that shoulder 'n hip like they was gonna fall off when he'd see the doctor, which didn't really make any difference, 'cause he was set-up for life after the settlement. His lawyer got him a big lump payment, plus a check every week for the rest of his life. Which I guess, stopped today. I don't know.
Sandy poured me another shot 'n a beer, then took my twenty and give me back twenty in change. That was her way a givin' me a freebie without lettin' on ta everyone what she's doin'. But, believe me, it was no secret. Everyone knew. Both Mr. Mulrooney and Frank said more than once that they was real sorry 'cause they knew how much we got along. Harris just kept up with his wise mouth stuff. "Remember that green striped short sleeved shirt he had? I liked that. Maybe tomorrow I'll go pick it up for half a buck." They'd tell him ta shut his mouth, but he wouldn't listen. We got a couple reasons why he's the way he is. He usta be a night guy like us, then his hours changed, and now he hasta come in drinkin' durin' the day. That might be one thing, him havin' ta sit with all the old guys. The other is, he hasta work and we don't, so he's kinda spiteful. And if either one were really the case, he'd be mad at more than half a the people who hang out here. Why he's all over us is beyond me.
He was still layin' inta Wally when the regular night crew started comin' in. None a them knew and Phil, who took over for Sandy, told 'em when they came in. They'd look over at me first thing when they heard, and they'd set me up with a couple drinks. I couldn't down 'em fast enough. No matter how much I drank, there'd always be about another fifteen white chips sittin' in front a me waitin' to be cashed in. By now, Harris is half in the bag, and says somethin' else about Wally. Something like, "It certainly was salvation for me!", whatever the hell that means, when Big Steve Brady stands up 'n says, "If you don't get outta here now, I'm gonna make sure you're laying in the room across the hall from Wally at Greer's!" Harris was about ta say somethin' when Big Steve looks at him real fierce and says, "Closed casket." Oh man, that scared the crap outta everyone in the room. Harris didn't say anything. He just pocketed his change and split. You shoulda heard the room after. Everyone cheered and laughed. "Aw right Big Steve!" half of 'em yelled. The other half were laughin', "Closed casket!" Then Big Steve comes over 'n pats me on the back. I don't know if anyone seen it, but that's the way Big Steve is. He takes care a people he likes, and he liked Wally 'n me. Closed casket. I ain't never heard a anything like that before. That even scared me. No kidding.
All the regulars were there 'n the place was pretty crowded for a Tuesday night. I heard Phil say to Jimmy C., "Business is great. One a yous guys should die every week!" They looked over at me, and I'm laughin', "Let's kill Harris next! That'll pack 'em in!"
"Who'll mourn him?" this guy Leo screams.
"No one!" I says. I says, "We'll just be happy to get rid a him!" Biggest laugh I ever got in there. That one got me even more chips. "Wally's bein' dead's really gettin' me loaded," I mumble to myself. And Phil hears me.
"Don't get too faced," he says ta me. That's one a his favorites - don't get too faced. "You wanna make it to the wake in one piece tomorrow."
"I'll be there," I says. "No matter."
"Hey, Pete," Big Steve says. "'Ya need a ride tomorrow?"
I had a mouthful a beer, so I swallow and go, "Nah. I'll just take the bus." Then I take another sip, right?
Then this guy Mickey D. goes, "Be careful crossing the street!"
Now, the whole place went nuts, and I just about choked on that beer. "Just spit it out!" Coots goes. "What a 'ya savin' it for? 'Ya got twenty more coming anyway!"
I started coughin' from laughin' so hard, and I couldn't swallow the damn thing, so Big Steve, like I said, always takin' care a people, slaps me on the back, like I'm some screwed up old TV set. I'm just lucky beer was the only thing that come outta my mouth he hit me so hard. But I'm laughin'. So hard there's tears comin' outta my eyes. Big Steve gives me a pat on the back after. A soft one.
Before we know it, Phil's flickin' the lights and screamin', "Last call! 'Ya hear me? Last call!" Well, we all get ta moanin' just like we do every other night he does it, but this time he starts wavin' his arms at us ta all be quiet.
"Listen," he goes real loud. "Listen. If you alls can keep yer mouth shut, the last round'll be on me."
That shut everyone up, I'll tell 'ya that. Sure did shut 'em up. And quick.
Then Jimmy C. goes, "Hey Pete," he goes. "You need a wheelbarrow to carry those chips home?"
"Nah," I go. "Stick 'em in my pocket," is what I says.
So when Phil's pouring my last shot 'n a beer, he goes, "Who yous gonna argue wit anymore?"
"Argue?" I says. And I'm thinkin', "Who do I argues wit?"
"Yeah, argue," he says. "All that mountain and desert stuff. You gots no one ta bicker wit anymore. You jus gonna go ta the mountains on yer own now?"
"Yeah. I dunno. Guess I could, huh? Whenever that settlement come in."
Then Ray lifts up his beer and goes, "Here's ta Wally! Wherever he is, heaven or hell, I'll tell 'ya one thing - it's looks better than this place!"
We all laughed 'n took a drink.
"Yes sir," Phil goes. "It's gonna get lonely around here wit out you two goin' off on each other."
Then Coots looks at me and goes, "Aww, you guys was all messed up anyways."
"How's that that we're all messed up?" I says.
"You had it all wrong, is what I say," Coots goes. "Mountains and desert. The ocean's where 'ya should go!"
"The ocean!" I says, and I had ta laugh. I go, "'Ya got hurricanes down there! And floods!"
Coots yells back, "Yer nuts! Floods? There's no floods! When you ever hear a the ocean flooding?"
"Oh, there's floods!" I says. "And mudslides! Floods and mudslides!" I scream at 'em. Old Coots, he doesn't watch news a lot. So, "Watch the news!" is what I says to 'em.
"There's no mud at the ocean! Mud's in the mountains! Where you wanna go!"
"No no no no no!" I go. "No ocean for me," I go. "'Ya got the hurricanes," I go. "And the floods!"
"Here we go again," says Phil, and he starts ta laughin', 'n so does everybody else.
The ocean. Geez. I just had to laugh. Some people just don't get it, you know? I pounded my beer and collected up my chips.
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