Friday, August 30, 2013

To Buy You a Gold Ring and a Pretty Dress of Blue ©2013 by Joe Sixtop all rights reserved

     We don't see my work-friend Ray the cook more than three nights a week at most. He has a day job, something janitorial I think. When he does work with us, he talks about golf a lot. Raymond claims (and I believe him) to be a scratch golfer. In real sports, scratches don't get to participate, but in golf a scratch is a real badass, so in Ray's lexicon a scratch is a fine thing to be indeed. Ray-Ray never utters the word "golf," actually. "My hobby," he says, "my little hobby."
     "Joe." wondered absolutely no one, "do you have any hobbies?"
     "Why yes," I would've answered, "yes I do." Even though I don't think of it as one, what else is These American Servers™ but a hobby? It sure hasn't ever made me any money, nor do I ever expect it to. No boss makes me compose this drivel; no supervisor tells me when, how or even if to present it. Therefore, hobby. But I've also got this other kind-of fun activity that consumes most of my waking moments and has for over two decades now. I started out so shitty at it that I can't believe I didn't just give up but now I'm so good at it I've almost got it mastered. My hobby is trying to quit smoking.
     We had a kind of shitty night at work this evening. A couple of brutal pops were interspersed with some big-time slowness. Plus we were a little shorthanded  on both sides of the expo line. I got kind of stressed during one of the pops. So when it slowed I asked our hostess to not seat me for at least three minutes. I (literally) ran to the nearby ShittyMart™ and bought a pack of Newport 100's.
     I can't recall if I've ever mentioned it to y'all but long-time readers may know that my go-to brand is Marlboro Reds. The Newports weren't for me. I gave them to my totally awesome, incredibly gorgeous co-worker, Sweetie, so that maybe she'll like me. That's not really why I gave her the cigarettes, although if they had that effect I guess I'd have to step up like I'm a man and accept the consequences of my actions.
     Anyway, I wasn't sure how many smokes I'd want; a half-dozen, max. A whole pack  of tasty 'Boros would either go to waste or be consumed by me. I gave Sweetie the entire 20, with the understanding that I could have a few of them back (during that shift) upon request, an arrangement she was totally cool with. I got to smoke a few cigarettes and ease my stress without being a bum or throwing a bunch of product away. Plus it helped Sweetie out a little, something I'm always looking for opportunities to do. We snuck out back for our nicotine fix. As we lit up, I looked into her pretty face. The most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen sparkled and she flashed me her lovely smile.

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