What?! My first true FLASHBACK post in over two years and I stretch my mind way back to the long-lost memories of...yesterday?! Meh. I've had the chance to catch a little more sleep since the events of yesterday afternoon and I'm rethinking my initial analysis of it by use of a timeline ticking off the actual conversation points, food and drink orders and other assorted occurrences of the day. Much like I do in many FLASHBACK posts.
12:32 pm: Per our phone conversations and texts beginning some twelve hours before at the start of my work night, I arrive at Ric's house to pick him up for our lunch date at a nearby sports pub, Tilted Kilt.
Though the front door is open and the entrance to his condo is barred only by the closed screen door, I jokingly text "Ding dong" to him. He doesn't respond though I can tell he's upstairs in his room so I call out to him. He shouts "It's open!" and I tell him the screen door is locked. He says it just sticks and I should pull hard on it. I do and as I enter his house I jokingly call up to him that I've accidentally pulled it off the hinges. Two lame jokes in less than five minutes. He knows I'm kidding and as he comes down from his room I make a snide remark about a spot of grey dust collecting on his popcorn ceiling in his galley kitchen, the accumulated discharge of an air conditioning duct.
12:40 pm: Ric starts talking about the various topics of the day that are of paramount interest to Ric: Biking and the cost of bike repairs, his weight loss efforts and how they are retarded by his love of Pepsi's, the freedom from roommates but the strain that freedom puts on his budget. Pretty much same old same, same old but with a bit more emphasis on his biking as he's now a social biker with membership in a biking club.
12:50 pm: As I drive us over to Tilted Kilt, we confirm our payment arrangements for the lunch. Ric would pay for his Fish and Chips and his initial pitcher of Coors Light (yes, he already knew exactly what he wanted to order) and I would pick up "the rest" including an appetizer of soft pretzels and beer cheese. We chat a bit about his finances and how he's under the thumb of debt mainly due to a recent medical bill in the hundreds and expensive bike repairs. I try to sound empathetic and I really am to a certain extent.
I may have remarked (and I certainly thought it) that this situation reminds me so much of my early Koyaanisqatsi years when the roles were reversed; when I needed Ric's help in footing the bills for our nights on the town.
(By the way, I wouldn't have said the word "Koyaanisqatsi" to him since he wouldn't know of the reference. I've told him about this blog on several occasions but Ric isn't much for remembering details like that. In other words, I'm pretty sure he's never read this blog.)
1:00 pm: Despite the sultry weather we agree to sit at the outside bar. We give our order to the flirty, young, overly made-up, cleavage-prominent barmaid (her "look" is a theme of this bar chain which no-doubt strives to pair the styles of a fun-lovin' Irish sports pub with the straight-guy-appeasing sexual overtones of a Hooter's). Within seconds she picks up on our "Friends of Dorothy" affiliation and tones down her pursing lips and batting eyelashes. Yes girl, chill it the fuck out...you have no power here!
2:00 pm: I had initially been sipping on my drink of Diet Coke but it was slightly flat and Ric was constantly pressuring me to help him drink his beer as he dutifully and methodically made his pitcher disappear. He hates it if he doesn't have an eager accomplice to join him on his mission towards drunkenness. I took a few sips of his warm, flat Coors Light and decided I could do much better so I ordered a Guinness draught. Ric took on a thoroughly satisfied look of accomplishment.
The burger I'd ordered was really sub par. It reminded me of a McDonald's burger with a fancier (though not tastier) bun. The bar wench comped me for it. Ric eagerly took this as a cue that I now had a freed up budget to go ahead and order his second pitcher.
Ric notices I'm somewhat distracted by a couple of customers behind him at the bar. After they leave, I tell him that I thought there was going to be a fight. They were a middle-aged couple, he a burly bald guy sporting a black sleeveless t-shirt and wrap-around sunglasses; she, a plump lady in a too-tight purple sundress and floppy straw hat. The barmaid comes to them, hands the guy a small condiment cup of some white creamy stuff (tartar sauce?) and apologizes for it being late. He's obviously pissed off and tosses the cup forcefully into the now empty, napkin-filled basket which had held their food (fried fish?). A glob of the sauce splatters out onto the lady's handbag and now she's pissed at him. She loudly berates him for his temper tantrum. He's having none of it and within minutes he pays up and abandons his companion. She had just ordered another wine and it had just been brought to her. She takes a furtive sip, gathers her pocketbook and walks rapidly off to join her mate.
3:00 pm: Ric's getting louder now and starts what he regards as his "being social" mode. He morphs into a happy-go-lucky straight-guy, flirting with the waitresses, yelling out to one who was smilingly greeting some other patrons. The look she briefly flashed to him, for a second, spoke volumes of her disapproval of his rude interruption and, perhaps, her memory of his past drunken behavior...until she professionally masked it, of course.
Like many others in this bar, we become entranced by our phones when conversation lags. He taking a stream of self-critiqued selfies while I took a snapshot of my beer.
4:30 pm: Ric's on his third pitcher and though he's now clearly slurring his words, he's holding up amazingly well. I have a feeling he's really in a mood to kick back quite a few more. Since I'm footing the bill for all this (including his first pitcher since they put it on my tab and I didn't fuss about it) I'm starting to drop hints that I wanted to move on. But with Ric in this state, the "hints" are more like me saying "Ric, let's move on." Subtlety was rendered a language lost to Ric over a pitcher ago.
Costs aside, I'm also worried about driving after drinking. I've only had four but I don't want to push my luck even though the bar is literally "just down the road" from his house. (Back in the day, we used to regularly walk to and from here when it was Uno's, remember?)
5:00 pm: After parking my car at his house and walking across the street to Jax, we begin again. First with beers (no pitchers here for Ric to order) and within a half hour more food. He has chicken fingers and I get onion rings.
The bar is dead, I'm getting really tired and Ric decides he wants more participants to join our dimming soiree. He tries calling up acquaintance after acquaintance. Even former one-night stands and somewhat hostile estranged former friends like Zach. None take him up on his offer. I get the feeling he's really scraping the bottom of his social barrel. The bartender here is unknown by him and I get the impression he hasn't been here in many months. It's a favorite hangout of Zach's and he implies he's been trying to avoid him. Ric's had over nine years to mold his reputation at these nearby bars and in the last couple of years I know he prefers to go to a bar twice as far away from home as these. Methinks he's had some,er, incidents.
5:45 pm: After his attempts to rustle up more "friends" fails, he starts slowly but surely to try to get under my skin. I can see him struggle with the dichotomy of the fact that I'm supplying him with his food and drinks but he wants, no, he NEEDS to feel superior. And the easiest way to that is to point out the flaws in others that he feels he doesn't share.
But just as the first passive aggressive opinions about me start to spew from his mouth, I cut him off at the pass. I turn the tables on him and start to chuckle about his lack of credit and out right laugh when he admits he is $2 away from his tiny credit limit on his only active credit card. I boastfully remind him of the tens of thousands of dollars of available credit I have on my seven major credit cards. I even took a couple of 20-dollar bills from my wallet and threw them in his face like he was a bitch. He knew I was joking, but in a small way, I wasn't.
He was particularly moochy this afternoon and with my upcoming Cali vacation and the move in a few more months, I'm feeling a little overextended. Nevertheless my derisiveness was uncalled for and though it may be a subtle payback for the times he'd done as much to me ten years ago, I should be better than that. Plus, as we know, karma's a bitch. I was were I am now just before 2002 and look what happened.
6:45 pm: As twilight made the cave-like Jax seem even more cave-like, we trudged our way over to his house where I made a beeline for his guest room. I'd been up now for over 24 hours straight and though having only 6 beers in all, I was ready to pass out. He went up to his room and after a couple hours nap I could hear he was in his tub running the water, a classic Ric hangover ritual.
His guest room bed, the same one I slept on when I'd lived there, has really not fared well these past few years and it was horribly lumpy. I was happy to get back into my own bed by 9:45 pm.
12:32 pm: Per our phone conversations and texts beginning some twelve hours before at the start of my work night, I arrive at Ric's house to pick him up for our lunch date at a nearby sports pub, Tilted Kilt.
Though the front door is open and the entrance to his condo is barred only by the closed screen door, I jokingly text "Ding dong" to him. He doesn't respond though I can tell he's upstairs in his room so I call out to him. He shouts "It's open!" and I tell him the screen door is locked. He says it just sticks and I should pull hard on it. I do and as I enter his house I jokingly call up to him that I've accidentally pulled it off the hinges. Two lame jokes in less than five minutes. He knows I'm kidding and as he comes down from his room I make a snide remark about a spot of grey dust collecting on his popcorn ceiling in his galley kitchen, the accumulated discharge of an air conditioning duct.
12:40 pm: Ric starts talking about the various topics of the day that are of paramount interest to Ric: Biking and the cost of bike repairs, his weight loss efforts and how they are retarded by his love of Pepsi's, the freedom from roommates but the strain that freedom puts on his budget. Pretty much same old same, same old but with a bit more emphasis on his biking as he's now a social biker with membership in a biking club.
12:50 pm: As I drive us over to Tilted Kilt, we confirm our payment arrangements for the lunch. Ric would pay for his Fish and Chips and his initial pitcher of Coors Light (yes, he already knew exactly what he wanted to order) and I would pick up "the rest" including an appetizer of soft pretzels and beer cheese. We chat a bit about his finances and how he's under the thumb of debt mainly due to a recent medical bill in the hundreds and expensive bike repairs. I try to sound empathetic and I really am to a certain extent.
I may have remarked (and I certainly thought it) that this situation reminds me so much of my early Koyaanisqatsi years when the roles were reversed; when I needed Ric's help in footing the bills for our nights on the town.
(By the way, I wouldn't have said the word "Koyaanisqatsi" to him since he wouldn't know of the reference. I've told him about this blog on several occasions but Ric isn't much for remembering details like that. In other words, I'm pretty sure he's never read this blog.)
1:00 pm: Despite the sultry weather we agree to sit at the outside bar. We give our order to the flirty, young, overly made-up, cleavage-prominent barmaid (her "look" is a theme of this bar chain which no-doubt strives to pair the styles of a fun-lovin' Irish sports pub with the straight-guy-appeasing sexual overtones of a Hooter's). Within seconds she picks up on our "Friends of Dorothy" affiliation and tones down her pursing lips and batting eyelashes. Yes girl, chill it the fuck out...you have no power here!
2:00 pm: I had initially been sipping on my drink of Diet Coke but it was slightly flat and Ric was constantly pressuring me to help him drink his beer as he dutifully and methodically made his pitcher disappear. He hates it if he doesn't have an eager accomplice to join him on his mission towards drunkenness. I took a few sips of his warm, flat Coors Light and decided I could do much better so I ordered a Guinness draught. Ric took on a thoroughly satisfied look of accomplishment.
The burger I'd ordered was really sub par. It reminded me of a McDonald's burger with a fancier (though not tastier) bun. The bar wench comped me for it. Ric eagerly took this as a cue that I now had a freed up budget to go ahead and order his second pitcher.
Ric notices I'm somewhat distracted by a couple of customers behind him at the bar. After they leave, I tell him that I thought there was going to be a fight. They were a middle-aged couple, he a burly bald guy sporting a black sleeveless t-shirt and wrap-around sunglasses; she, a plump lady in a too-tight purple sundress and floppy straw hat. The barmaid comes to them, hands the guy a small condiment cup of some white creamy stuff (tartar sauce?) and apologizes for it being late. He's obviously pissed off and tosses the cup forcefully into the now empty, napkin-filled basket which had held their food (fried fish?). A glob of the sauce splatters out onto the lady's handbag and now she's pissed at him. She loudly berates him for his temper tantrum. He's having none of it and within minutes he pays up and abandons his companion. She had just ordered another wine and it had just been brought to her. She takes a furtive sip, gathers her pocketbook and walks rapidly off to join her mate.
3:00 pm: Ric's getting louder now and starts what he regards as his "being social" mode. He morphs into a happy-go-lucky straight-guy, flirting with the waitresses, yelling out to one who was smilingly greeting some other patrons. The look she briefly flashed to him, for a second, spoke volumes of her disapproval of his rude interruption and, perhaps, her memory of his past drunken behavior...until she professionally masked it, of course.
Like many others in this bar, we become entranced by our phones when conversation lags. He taking a stream of self-critiqued selfies while I took a snapshot of my beer.
4:30 pm: Ric's on his third pitcher and though he's now clearly slurring his words, he's holding up amazingly well. I have a feeling he's really in a mood to kick back quite a few more. Since I'm footing the bill for all this (including his first pitcher since they put it on my tab and I didn't fuss about it) I'm starting to drop hints that I wanted to move on. But with Ric in this state, the "hints" are more like me saying "Ric, let's move on." Subtlety was rendered a language lost to Ric over a pitcher ago.
Costs aside, I'm also worried about driving after drinking. I've only had four but I don't want to push my luck even though the bar is literally "just down the road" from his house. (Back in the day, we used to regularly walk to and from here when it was Uno's, remember?)
5:00 pm: After parking my car at his house and walking across the street to Jax, we begin again. First with beers (no pitchers here for Ric to order) and within a half hour more food. He has chicken fingers and I get onion rings.
The bar is dead, I'm getting really tired and Ric decides he wants more participants to join our dimming soiree. He tries calling up acquaintance after acquaintance. Even former one-night stands and somewhat hostile estranged former friends like Zach. None take him up on his offer. I get the feeling he's really scraping the bottom of his social barrel. The bartender here is unknown by him and I get the impression he hasn't been here in many months. It's a favorite hangout of Zach's and he implies he's been trying to avoid him. Ric's had over nine years to mold his reputation at these nearby bars and in the last couple of years I know he prefers to go to a bar twice as far away from home as these. Methinks he's had some,er, incidents.
5:45 pm: After his attempts to rustle up more "friends" fails, he starts slowly but surely to try to get under my skin. I can see him struggle with the dichotomy of the fact that I'm supplying him with his food and drinks but he wants, no, he NEEDS to feel superior. And the easiest way to that is to point out the flaws in others that he feels he doesn't share.
But just as the first passive aggressive opinions about me start to spew from his mouth, I cut him off at the pass. I turn the tables on him and start to chuckle about his lack of credit and out right laugh when he admits he is $2 away from his tiny credit limit on his only active credit card. I boastfully remind him of the tens of thousands of dollars of available credit I have on my seven major credit cards. I even took a couple of 20-dollar bills from my wallet and threw them in his face like he was a bitch. He knew I was joking, but in a small way, I wasn't.
He was particularly moochy this afternoon and with my upcoming Cali vacation and the move in a few more months, I'm feeling a little overextended. Nevertheless my derisiveness was uncalled for and though it may be a subtle payback for the times he'd done as much to me ten years ago, I should be better than that. Plus, as we know, karma's a bitch. I was were I am now just before 2002 and look what happened.
6:45 pm: As twilight made the cave-like Jax seem even more cave-like, we trudged our way over to his house where I made a beeline for his guest room. I'd been up now for over 24 hours straight and though having only 6 beers in all, I was ready to pass out. He went up to his room and after a couple hours nap I could hear he was in his tub running the water, a classic Ric hangover ritual.
His guest room bed, the same one I slept on when I'd lived there, has really not fared well these past few years and it was horribly lumpy. I was happy to get back into my own bed by 9:45 pm.