5:00 A.M.
You are still sitting on The Sooker’s patio with your
friends, sharing stories of Jimmy Lester and other odd characters that you have
all known.
“You guys remember the Flintstones?” asks TomTom. “I haven’t
seen them in a while.”
The Flintstones are a married couple in their late 30’s or
early 40’s who can be found at any given local bar on Wednesdays, Fridays and
Sundays. Of course, you have no idea what their real last name is, but it's
most certainly not “Flintstone”. Plus, they share no resemblance to the cartoon
characters, Fred and Wilma. Regular customers are often referred to by
nicknames among food and beverage staff members, and you aren’t sure where most
of them come from. Sure, there are people like “Leather Face”, “Greasy Guy”,
“Stinky Guy”, “Loud Lady”, and “Big Ears” who have names that make sense. But
there are others like “Kitty Kat”, “Zoom Zoom”, “Screwy Dewie”, and “the
Flintstones”. You have no idea why someone decided to start calling them by
those names. The only thing you are sure of is that these nicknames are not
terms of endearment, and they should never be used in the presence of the
people to whom you are referring.
"Why the fuck do teachers always have to make a point
to tell you that they are teachers?" TomTom says. "What, do they
think they're doing god's work?"
"It's so you know that you're about to get a shitty
tip," you respond.
Everyone laughs.
“Have you guys heard about Ryan’s pepper grinder incident?”
asks The Sooker.
Of course we have all heard the story. But, just like
turning on the TV at any point during the movie Caddyshack, you enjoy it over
and over again. It’s not just Ryan’s tale either. You and all of your friends
have at least one doosie that never gets old.
“Common, Ryan,” urged The Sooker. “Tell us the story.”
“Alright,” says Ryan quietly. “But I’ve told this story a
million times.”
Ryan pauses for a moment, finishes his Gin and Tonic, takes
a long drag from his cigarette and starts in.
“I was working the opening shift and had only one table. It
was a four-top with two old couples. I mean, they were really old. Shit, this
happened three or four years ago, so they’re probably all dead by now. Any how,
I brought out their salads and was carrying the peppermill under my left arm. I
set down all four plates and asked them if they would like freshly ground
pepper.”
“They always do,” TomTom interjects. “Why the fuck do they
think ‘freshly ground pepper’ is so fucking up-scale?”
“Yea,” adds Ten Pen. “And fucking dinner rolls. They act
like you cannot buy fucking dinner rolls in a fucking grocery store. Like it’s
some sort of fucking delicacy or something.”
“So,” Ryan continues, “as I swung the grinder from under my
arm the ball thing at the top, you know, the part you twist? Well, anyway it
flew off and hit one of the old women in the jaw.”
You start to laugh. Not so much because it’s a funny ending
to the story, but because you know what’s coming next.
“Then,” Ryan said, pausing to light a new cigarette. “The
old lady’s husband grabbed me by the arm and told me that I could have killed
his wife and that I should learn to be ‘professional’. Of course I agreed and
apologized and told them that dinner was on me.
The thing is, I couldn’t figure out how the hell that thing
flew off. Apparently, the little chrome nut that holds the ball on had fallen
off. And I couldn’t find it. I looked everywhere too.
Well, the other old lady put a big old fork full of salad in
her mouth and started chewing and immediately busted her denture on the fucking
chrome nut. I mean, the fake tooth actually broke and fell out of her mouth and
landed on her bread plate. I thought I was going to get my ass kicked by a
couple of hundred-year-old dudes. And one of the busboys thought he should call
911 because I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.”
You all start laughing like it is the first time you have
ever heard the story. You are howling so loud that Joey opens his eyes and sits
up. “Pistyoresme. Yea,” is all he says before going back to sleep.
*****
5:45 A.M.
As the sun begins to appear over the Sierra Nevada mountain
range, and starts to bathe the great San Joaquin Valley in an orange-red glow,
you, like the owl, the ocelot, the raccoon, and the vampire, begin to seek
darkness. Within moments, everyone has retreated to the living room. Even there,
you realize that there will be no way to escape the light. So you resolve there
is no solution but to leave The Sooker’s house. You glance at Ryan and know
that he’s ready to leave as well.
You and your friend say your goodbyes and leave. The plan is
simple. Ryan will drive you back to the Moonlight to retrieve your car, and you
will head home, do a load or two of laundry, get to bed at a reasonable hour
and be back at Giuseppe’s for your 5:00 Saturday evening shift.
You ride in silence and are struck by how quiet the streets
are at 6:00 A.M. on a Sunday.
As Ryan pulls into the parking lot of the Highlander Village
shopping center, you breathe a sigh of relief to see that your car is still
there. Fresno is the automobile theft capitol of California.
Ryan pulls up alongside your car but there are no farewells
exchanged. Instead, you both look at the Moonlight Lounge and realize that the
bar is open. Without saying a word, you know the question. “Okay,” you answer,
“just one and then I got go home.”
You make your way to the middle of the bar and are not
surprised to see there are already three other regular customers sipping
cocktails over the Sunday morning paper. Are they starting the day, or
continuing the night? Either way, these are the kind of guys who will tell you
“you can’t drink all day if you don’t start first thing in the morning.”
The bartender is Jerry “Sam” Samuelian, the 60-year-old son
of an Armenian immigrant and part owner of two gas stations, a motel, a
restaurant, and the Moonlight Lounge. He’s also a notorious drinker who
regularly disappears for weeks at a time while he locks himself inside one of
his motel rooms and goes on a bender. During these times, he has liquor, food,
and hookers sent to his room. But he never leaves. This has been going on for
years and you are always genuinely surprised when you see that he’s actually at
work. But on this morning, you and Ryan both immediately recognize that Sam is
plastered.
Ryan orders a Gin and Tonic and you order a Rum and Coke and
you both sit and watch Sam’s hands tremble as he works hard to construct the
two simple drinks. It takes him at least three minutes, but he manages to slide
a little black cocktail straw into each glass, pick both glasses up, and head
to the middle of the bar to deliver them to you and your friend. Then he stops
and looks directly at you and you can see some sort of light go on in Sam’s
eyes. “Hey, you boys work at Giuseppe’s. Right?” You both smile and nod. “How’s
the food over there” he asks, “I’ve been meaning to get over there for a while.
I like a good ravioli. How’s the ravioli over there?”
Sam continues a monologue about northern Italian food, and
red sauce, and leather booths, and cloth napkins, and about ten other things,
all while still holding your drinks.
“Yea,” he continues, “I do think I should get over to that
Giuseppe’s place sometime. I might just enjoy the ravioli. You say you got some
ravioli, right?”
Then, Sam quit talking. Great. You are about to get your
drink. Finally. But instead, Sam lifts Ryan’s Gin and Tonic to his lips and
takes a sip. “SHIT!” he exclaims, “That’s Gin,” and spits on the floor. In the
same motion, he raises your Rum and Coke to his lips and takes a big drink.
“Much better. What can I get you boys?”
“Goddammit Sam,” one of the regulars yells down the bar.
“You’re too fucked up to be here. Go sit down.” Then the regular stands up
slightly and looks directly at you. “You’re a bartender. Right?” You nod. “Then
you don’t mind if this is a serve yourself kinda place until we can get another
employee in here to take over. Right?”
For the next hour, you and Ryan and Sam and the three
regulars sit and drink in the comfortable darkness of the Moonlight Lounge.
Finally, at around 7:30 AM, Herb shows up to take over.
Herb usually works the opening shift during the week, but is
regularly called in on Saturdays and Sundays when Sam is too drunk to work - or
when Sam doesn’t show up at all. He’s a likable overweight widower who retired
from his job as a cop several years ago, but got bored and started bartending
about six months after leaving the Police Department. He doesn’t mind getting
called in to work on his day off. As he puts it, “What else am I gonna do? Sit
home and slowly die?”
It doesn’t take long for you and Ryan to regain the
comfortable buzz that wore off with the rising sun. So you decide to put off
laundry for another day and, instead, to have a few more drinks.
*****
You wake up to the bright afternoon sun shining through the
smoke-stained slats of your shitty window blinds. It’s 3:45 and there is only a
vague recollection of details from the night before. But the details aren’t
important; it will be the same tonight as it was last night.
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