Four - Green Through

Here's what pisses me off about glass, it's single only job is to be see-through, it's SINGLE ONLY JOB, and yet eat a shard of it and you can no longer even see it at all! You know, except the bit sticking out your neck, but then you have to break that off and eat it again, and it's NEVER the tastiest bit. I don't know why. 

The glass was the first thing I noticed when I stormed out of the cloakroom.  Glass windows, glass glasses, people looking at the glass glasses through their glasses. But soon I was distracted by more things. Things that had nothing at all to with glass. By the lights through the glass bulbs. By the people eating their food and drinking their glasses of wine. By Kev's wailing for an ambulance or at least a glass of water. By the glass fish tank left over from the old set up which didn't fit the current Mexican theme, I mean the fish in the tank were Cichlids, which are African, they should have had Mexican fish in there, like the ones that lay pinto beans. Stupid owners. By the the class of 78' reunion going on in the corner with the misspelled banner accidentally saying 'glass of 78'. And by the evil super-villain Glassman, who'd taken a break from super-villaining for an hour or two to eat some delicious glass shards and salsa.

Plus I was distracted by the fact that I was now staring across the room at a door which said 'cloakroom' on it. So where had I just been? And how come everyone else in there had knives, and pans, and buckets of corn chips and guacamole next to them? 

To be honest I was so distracted that I briefly forgot what I needed to do. The thing that was so important. The BIG thing. That needed to be done NOW. And forgetting what I am supposed to be doing has always made me hungry. 

Lucky I heard there was a good Mexican restaurant near by. I wasn't sure where exactly so I asked one of the waiters 'do you know where a Mexican restaurant near hear is'? He tipped his sombrero up, tilted his head back and looked at me suspiciously and sheepishly replied 'are you fucking serious?' 

I was.

Deadly serious. 

And when people ask me if I'm serious when the answer is that I'm deadly serious, things take a turn for the deadly, and when things get deadly they get serious - deadly serious. 

I grabbed for a knife, but instead got a glass, and I held it up into the air and yelled at the waiter 'it's ok, I'll just eat this'. 

And that's when things in the room reached a level they'd previously never been before - just as heated. How I would deal with this would affect the whole rest of the afternoon, and I needed to deal with it NOW, and in a BIG way!

To be added to* 

*Another alternative for continued, albeit a shit one. Someone really should look into that. 

Two - Frosty Responsibility

My mate Kev has never been the reliable sort. One time when I locked myself out of my apartment it took him the best part of three hours to merely get his date to leave his bedroom, drive up the coast to my parents house, break in and get my spare keys from the locked draw in my dad's home office then drive them an hour back down to me. Seriously? Three hours! I'd realized I'd left the back window open nearly two hours before he showed up. Then he wanted one of my last five beers! Dick. 

Another time when was at his place and I asked if I could have a beer he replied 'I think there is one left in the outside fridge, help yourself'. Yep! That's right. He didn't even get it for me. 

Then one other time when I was moving he only helped me for half a Sunday. Then when I realized that I didn't have room in my new place for the large fridge I owned and asked if he wanted to take it, he claimed that he 'already had a fridge', so I said 'well you have a garage, stick it in there' and then he said 'I can barely fit my car in there as it is' and then I said 'park on the street you lazy prick, and besides once when I was at your place you didn't even have any cold beers! None. Who the fuck treats a visitor like that? Take my fridge and you can have a fridge just for beer and be a good host for once'. 

That shut him up. I'd obviously convinced him. But then later, when I asked for the money he owed me for buying it off me he said he'd only give me the price I paid for it $899, which turned out to be $50 less than what it cost to buy a new one in the modern market due to inflation! 

Yep, Kev, he's a good mate, but he can't be relied on for shit. That means when he actually DOES get something moderately right, like spurting blood to give me cover, I know I have to get my part right too. It's hard to call someone out for being a lazy, unreliable dick if you fuck shit up yourself occasionally.

So opon my first purveyance of the cloakroom I knew that my ability to make fun of Kev for stabbing himself with a knife instead of a fork was on the line. I had to find something. And something good. Very good. Good enough to warrant being both found and claimed as being good. 

And I had to find it in the cloakroom. Because that's where I both was, and where I'd claimed I'd find said good stuff. 

The search was going to create a story worth detailing in every detail like a poet detailing something poetically, and when you're going to do something like that, you want to do it swiftly. Something I personally would never, ever fail to do. 

To Be Continued*...

*long for Cont, you know to be clear