November 10, 1999
|
I was working the evening shift at the local retirement home when Joe rang me up. This was back in the day of our obnoxious bar-hopping, when we would not even have to call each other but assume that one night per weekend would be devoted to adventures of hops and barley. The noise in the background and the volume of Joe's voice indicated that he was calling from the Gambler, the fabled bar in McHenry where most of my 20's took place. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING AFTER WORK?" Joe shouted, knowing full well that the evening shift ended at midnight. "Um, I'm going home and going to bed." It was the night before Christmas Eve and I was reluctant to begin the holidays hungover. "COME TO THE GAMBLER," he demanded. "Joe, I can't. I'm tired." "SEE YOU HERE. I'M AT THE GAMBLER." Click. Crap. At 12:00, I punched out and headed up the street to the bar. I didn't really want to plunge into the Gambler sober at midnight, but I imagined the legions of phone calls Joe would make until I showed up, so I went. I'll only stay a few minutes, I thought. Joe had a Miller Lite waiting for me, and luckily, the bar closed before he could order me another. I don't know how Joe got himself to the bar, but I assumed I'd have to drive him home, and I did. Well, I thought we were going home. But then Joe got the idea of exchanging gifts. He remembered that McHenry's Wal-Mart was open 24 hours, this being the Christmas season and all, and we hurried over. Suddenly, I was as enthused about the idea of Christmas shopping at 1:30 in the morning as he was. When we entered Wal-Mart, we decided to split up. We each had 15 minutes to shop and check out. We'd meet again at the car. Joe grabbed a cart and took off towards sportswear. I headed to the back of the store. Every time our paths crossed, Joe would lunge over the top of his cart, shielding its contents with his arms and drunkenly imploring, "Don't LOOK! You're LOOKING!" Finally, I made my selections and got into the express lane. There were very few Christmas revelers at Wal-Mart, and those in line with me stood silently as their wrapping paper and last minute gifts were rung up. Just as I placed Joe's gifts on the counter (nose plugs and a jock cup), I heard a ruckus behind me. Joe and his cart were in line. There was one woman separating us, and every time I turned my head, Joe would whine to her. "Don't let her see! Shhhh! DON'T LET HER LOOK!" The woman and the cashier both seemed perplexed at our game, and I was glad to pay and leave. I put my purchases in the trunk and stood leaning against my car door, waiting for Joe to emerge from the store. It didn't take long. He burst through the automatic doors, brandishing several bags and laughing hysterically. "I JUST SPENT SIXTY-SEVEN FUCKING DOLLARS!" he yelled. "AND I SPELLED 'SIXTY' WITH TWO X'S!"
After a trip to Taco Bell, we went to Joe's house to eat and exchange Christmas cheer. While he greatly enjoyed my gifts, I was left speechless by his selections for me:
The day after Christmas, Joe and I were just two of the many Wal-Mart shoppers in the "Returns" line. He didn't even let me keep the money from my Kathie Lee sweater. He owes me.
|
Wanna be notified when I update? Send mail and thou shalt receive!
