363
R. Linda:
So, we get up the following day, hangovers banging around our heads, and head off to find my car. It was bad enough that we couldn't find Broadway in broad daylight, but we couldn't (any of us) remember what lot I had left me motor at. This did not make me feel very well, because I could hear the parking lot cash register, ca-chinging away inside me aching head.
I got into amok sweat over it, going up and down the street trying to see in the fenced in lots for me Saturn. Weasil just stood there watching me as he sipped his coffee, leaning on his crutch, and the other two were conversing about this, that and the other thing, not really caring. Finally, I threw me hands up.
"THIS little jaunt of yours be going to cost me an arm and a leg." I ranted at Weasil.
"Dunt worry, Ima payin fer it. Yer dunt hafta put out a pence cuz yer ritey dissy here wuz me idea." And he smiled that toothpaste ad grin, and well, this settled me nerves somewhat, but it didn't help that none of us knew where the motor was parked.
"Lookie here, letz jus git ta da tournie-mint an dens we'll worry bout da motor," Weasil drawled gimping off in the opposite direction.
I stood there in disbelief.
"Really? You're still on that farce, are you?"
Me car would probably be trashed, and here he was talking about that make-believe tournament that got me into this trouble in the first place. I thought the three of them would stop and see I wasn't coming, but no, no, they just kept talking and going. I decided I better catch up because I had no choice really. I had been up and down that street like a rat in a maze, and to keep going back and forth was a fruitless endeavour.
We walked about ten blocks, and I was getting really irritated now. I was about to run me piehole when the Weas turned and opened a door, and in they went with me, feeling completely confused behind them. The place was filled with people. There were tables all set up with . . . Chinese checkers! He wasn't kidding, and I was gobsmacked.
Freddie and Christie wandered off to watch some players while Weasil signed me in. Only me. I was mumbling under me breath what about himself, but he just mumbled back that I was the pro. AS IF! I was given a sticky paper with a number on it and told to put it on me chest and go over to table number 30 where me competitor, Mr. Chang was just sitting down. I did not plaster it on me chest, I just held onto it quite embarrassed.
We shuffled over. Mr. Chang rose halfway and shook my hand with a bow. I did the same and sat opposite him. A man came over and flipped a coin. Mr. Chang called it, and it was 'tails' his call. Several people grouped around us. The man with the coin explained we had seven games.
"The first player to reach all ten destination holes is the winner. You will play 7 rounds, and the person who has won more rounds wins," the man said, and we started. I won three, Mr. Chang won three, and We were down to the big finish. I looked up to see Weasil's reaction, but I noticed he wasn't in the crowd. I looked around to see where he might have gone off to. I couldn't find him. I was a little disturbed. I had diligently been playing this ridiculous game at his request, and he did not have the decency to watch! This agitation so threw me concentration that Mr. Chang won the last game. I shook his hand and the hands of some of the watchers and went off in search of Weasil while Mr. Chang was presented with a trophy. A trophy! If I had known that, I'd have forgotten Weasil altogether, so I'd win and had proof positive for Tonya that I was actually at a tournament.
I saw Freddie and Christie at a table of four playing, but no Weasil. I walked to the bar and ordered meself a tomato juice. Me mouth was dry, and after last night's debauchery, I needed something with vitamins in it. I strolled around and looked at every blond head in the room, but no Weasil. I got to the back of the room and noticed people going in and out and a lot of boisterous noise and laughter coming from within a back room.
"What's back there?" I asked a bystander.
"Poker. Big stakes poker."
I nodded and moved off towards the door. When it opened, I glanced in, and what did I see? Weasil, with green head shade, garters on his rolled up sleeves, cigar in mouth, looking at his cards as he mumbled something that made his table laugh. There were girls all around the table, and all eyes were fixed on the magnificent Weasil, who was holding court like he was Brad Pitt. The door closed, I stood there insanely angry. Here I was playing Chinese checkers, and there he was playing POKER! What is wrong with that picture, I ask you?
"Can anyone play?" I asked the same bystander.
"Oh yeah, if you have the money. You go in and talk to the guy at the private bar. The drinks aren't free in there," he informed me, looking at me glass of juice.
I nodded and went inside. I stood there watching Weasil from the back and moved up just behind him. He was winning, and he had to be cheating. I was sure of it. Weasil doesn't do anything he can't be a weasel about. I can't say outright what he was doing to win, but I knew he was doing something because this is the Weasil we are talking. I couldn't figure it out. I still can't. And he won't admit to cheating, but he didn't deny it either. As the game was winding down and he was about to take it all, I kicked the back of his chair gently to get his attention. He looked up and, with slit eyes from the cigar smoke and with a devious grin, nodded and then put his winning hand on the table.
Everyone got up, and as quickly as they did, others took their places. The girls carried his chips as he hobbled, talking with cigar in mouth to them as he went to cash in. I followed him, and as they dispersed, each young lady was given a chip for her troubles. I privately got me two-pennyworth in about how maligned I felt and what the hell was this? Was this even legal? God knows.
He told me it was fine, one day only, friendly game, no paid-for admission like the checkers, so what's my beef? I was not a happy man. What was me beef? I said to him to think about it. He got his jacket on and it was then I noticed he wasn't dressed in that offending t-shirt and jeans. He had on a sports coat, dress shirt and nice trousers.
"Wait a minute, where did you get the clothes?" I asked, stopping him.
"I won em. Why?"
"You won them? From whom?"
He pointed to a man dressed in his old clothes, an older distinguished gent who looked quite the fool, and then I thought I must look like that as well since I was dressed similarly thanks to Weasil.
To make a long, maddening story short, we found me motor. As we were going back up Broadway to look for it again, it was being towed away. I ran after it, looking like "Ichabod Crane," according to a laughing Weasil. The tow driver stopped, and I told him that it was me car and where was he taking it. He informed me it was being towed to the impounding lot because it had been sitting in a lot. The extra time on it had not been paid in advance, which was the lot's rules, AND they needed the space. Weasel had caught up to me and asked what the fee was; well, it was a $300 fine, along with $60 owed to the lot and another $50 to get the vehicle released back to me. Weasil counted out all that from SOME of his vast winnings and handed it to me.
"Woodz ya mindie takin em' wit ya so he can git his car and go?" Weasil asked humbly, like the man was doing him a favour.
"Get in, I'm not supposed to do this, but I suppose," he said leaning out of the truck toward Weas as I got in the other side. I can only think the Weasil made it worth his while, but I don't know that for sure.
I yelled to Weasil to wait where he was, I'd come by and pick him and his friends up, but he waved me off and told me to go home. I was in enough trouble with the wife, especially when she discovered the chicken in the nappy pail, and he would take care of himself, ringing me later to let me know he was flying out to London. Yup. No way was he going to subject himself to the wrath of Tonya. Let me face her alone. Typical.
The adventure be over it be. I realised then that I was used to driving that idiot to Boston. Seething, I did get meself home to a storm of indignation from a wife who "could not for the life" of her understand what would possess me to throw chicken bones in the baby's nappy pail and not the kitchen bin. What was wrong with a man who goes to the equivalent of a strip joint (I corrected her, drag queens, not strippers) under the guise he is going to play CHINESE CHECKERS, as if! He then loses the family car because he has had too much to drink. He doesn't remember where he left said car, nor probably that he was a family man with a wife and kids. It went on to irresponsible behaviour, childish, immature, stupid, just to name a few of the words that were tossed in me direction.
So, for Valentine's Day, I have to really do something fantastic, or I will be living with the beavers down the road. At least if I end up there, I have a mailbox.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
So, we get up the following day, hangovers banging around our heads, and head off to find my car. It was bad enough that we couldn't find Broadway in broad daylight, but we couldn't (any of us) remember what lot I had left me motor at. This did not make me feel very well, because I could hear the parking lot cash register, ca-chinging away inside me aching head.
I got into amok sweat over it, going up and down the street trying to see in the fenced in lots for me Saturn. Weasil just stood there watching me as he sipped his coffee, leaning on his crutch, and the other two were conversing about this, that and the other thing, not really caring. Finally, I threw me hands up.
"THIS little jaunt of yours be going to cost me an arm and a leg." I ranted at Weasil.
"Dunt worry, Ima payin fer it. Yer dunt hafta put out a pence cuz yer ritey dissy here wuz me idea." And he smiled that toothpaste ad grin, and well, this settled me nerves somewhat, but it didn't help that none of us knew where the motor was parked.
"Lookie here, letz jus git ta da tournie-mint an dens we'll worry bout da motor," Weasil drawled gimping off in the opposite direction.
I stood there in disbelief.
"Really? You're still on that farce, are you?"
Me car would probably be trashed, and here he was talking about that make-believe tournament that got me into this trouble in the first place. I thought the three of them would stop and see I wasn't coming, but no, no, they just kept talking and going. I decided I better catch up because I had no choice really. I had been up and down that street like a rat in a maze, and to keep going back and forth was a fruitless endeavour.
We walked about ten blocks, and I was getting really irritated now. I was about to run me piehole when the Weas turned and opened a door, and in they went with me, feeling completely confused behind them. The place was filled with people. There were tables all set up with . . . Chinese checkers! He wasn't kidding, and I was gobsmacked.
Freddie and Christie wandered off to watch some players while Weasil signed me in. Only me. I was mumbling under me breath what about himself, but he just mumbled back that I was the pro. AS IF! I was given a sticky paper with a number on it and told to put it on me chest and go over to table number 30 where me competitor, Mr. Chang was just sitting down. I did not plaster it on me chest, I just held onto it quite embarrassed.
We shuffled over. Mr. Chang rose halfway and shook my hand with a bow. I did the same and sat opposite him. A man came over and flipped a coin. Mr. Chang called it, and it was 'tails' his call. Several people grouped around us. The man with the coin explained we had seven games.
"The first player to reach all ten destination holes is the winner. You will play 7 rounds, and the person who has won more rounds wins," the man said, and we started. I won three, Mr. Chang won three, and We were down to the big finish. I looked up to see Weasil's reaction, but I noticed he wasn't in the crowd. I looked around to see where he might have gone off to. I couldn't find him. I was a little disturbed. I had diligently been playing this ridiculous game at his request, and he did not have the decency to watch! This agitation so threw me concentration that Mr. Chang won the last game. I shook his hand and the hands of some of the watchers and went off in search of Weasil while Mr. Chang was presented with a trophy. A trophy! If I had known that, I'd have forgotten Weasil altogether, so I'd win and had proof positive for Tonya that I was actually at a tournament.
I saw Freddie and Christie at a table of four playing, but no Weasil. I walked to the bar and ordered meself a tomato juice. Me mouth was dry, and after last night's debauchery, I needed something with vitamins in it. I strolled around and looked at every blond head in the room, but no Weasil. I got to the back of the room and noticed people going in and out and a lot of boisterous noise and laughter coming from within a back room.
"What's back there?" I asked a bystander.
"Poker. Big stakes poker."
I nodded and moved off towards the door. When it opened, I glanced in, and what did I see? Weasil, with green head shade, garters on his rolled up sleeves, cigar in mouth, looking at his cards as he mumbled something that made his table laugh. There were girls all around the table, and all eyes were fixed on the magnificent Weasil, who was holding court like he was Brad Pitt. The door closed, I stood there insanely angry. Here I was playing Chinese checkers, and there he was playing POKER! What is wrong with that picture, I ask you?
"Can anyone play?" I asked the same bystander.
"Oh yeah, if you have the money. You go in and talk to the guy at the private bar. The drinks aren't free in there," he informed me, looking at me glass of juice.
I nodded and went inside. I stood there watching Weasil from the back and moved up just behind him. He was winning, and he had to be cheating. I was sure of it. Weasil doesn't do anything he can't be a weasel about. I can't say outright what he was doing to win, but I knew he was doing something because this is the Weasil we are talking. I couldn't figure it out. I still can't. And he won't admit to cheating, but he didn't deny it either. As the game was winding down and he was about to take it all, I kicked the back of his chair gently to get his attention. He looked up and, with slit eyes from the cigar smoke and with a devious grin, nodded and then put his winning hand on the table.
Everyone got up, and as quickly as they did, others took their places. The girls carried his chips as he hobbled, talking with cigar in mouth to them as he went to cash in. I followed him, and as they dispersed, each young lady was given a chip for her troubles. I privately got me two-pennyworth in about how maligned I felt and what the hell was this? Was this even legal? God knows.
He told me it was fine, one day only, friendly game, no paid-for admission like the checkers, so what's my beef? I was not a happy man. What was me beef? I said to him to think about it. He got his jacket on and it was then I noticed he wasn't dressed in that offending t-shirt and jeans. He had on a sports coat, dress shirt and nice trousers.
"Wait a minute, where did you get the clothes?" I asked, stopping him.
"I won em. Why?"
"You won them? From whom?"
He pointed to a man dressed in his old clothes, an older distinguished gent who looked quite the fool, and then I thought I must look like that as well since I was dressed similarly thanks to Weasil.
To make a long, maddening story short, we found me motor. As we were going back up Broadway to look for it again, it was being towed away. I ran after it, looking like "Ichabod Crane," according to a laughing Weasil. The tow driver stopped, and I told him that it was me car and where was he taking it. He informed me it was being towed to the impounding lot because it had been sitting in a lot. The extra time on it had not been paid in advance, which was the lot's rules, AND they needed the space. Weasel had caught up to me and asked what the fee was; well, it was a $300 fine, along with $60 owed to the lot and another $50 to get the vehicle released back to me. Weasil counted out all that from SOME of his vast winnings and handed it to me.
"Woodz ya mindie takin em' wit ya so he can git his car and go?" Weasil asked humbly, like the man was doing him a favour.
"Get in, I'm not supposed to do this, but I suppose," he said leaning out of the truck toward Weas as I got in the other side. I can only think the Weasil made it worth his while, but I don't know that for sure.
I yelled to Weasil to wait where he was, I'd come by and pick him and his friends up, but he waved me off and told me to go home. I was in enough trouble with the wife, especially when she discovered the chicken in the nappy pail, and he would take care of himself, ringing me later to let me know he was flying out to London. Yup. No way was he going to subject himself to the wrath of Tonya. Let me face her alone. Typical.
The adventure be over it be. I realised then that I was used to driving that idiot to Boston. Seething, I did get meself home to a storm of indignation from a wife who "could not for the life" of her understand what would possess me to throw chicken bones in the baby's nappy pail and not the kitchen bin. What was wrong with a man who goes to the equivalent of a strip joint (I corrected her, drag queens, not strippers) under the guise he is going to play CHINESE CHECKERS, as if! He then loses the family car because he has had too much to drink. He doesn't remember where he left said car, nor probably that he was a family man with a wife and kids. It went on to irresponsible behaviour, childish, immature, stupid, just to name a few of the words that were tossed in me direction.
So, for Valentine's Day, I have to really do something fantastic, or I will be living with the beavers down the road. At least if I end up there, I have a mailbox.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
