So the weekend after I posted about my last nerve being torched by Toxic Ric, he texted "Hello" and called me and like a fool I answered and made as if the shit of the past weekend never happened. I end up agreeing to meet up with him at his hotel in New Smyrna for this past weekend.
I get there and he's already demanding where we're going to go...no debate or mutual consent, it's his way or no way. We get there, JB's Fish Camp, which I was last here with him about 20 years ago. It's a good enough place, very well known in the area, but it was packed and I was feelin' a bit exposed. Masks were required until you were seated, but the seating was not well distanced and whether at the tables where we started out or at the bar were we moved after eating, it was a maskless, close together jumble. The food was nothing to write home about either and it was all quite expensive, especially for a down-home, laid-back fish camp vibe.
But the beer did its job and we got shitfaced. Me more than him apparently since I barely remember leaving there hours later. Checked my AMEX account today and I dropped about $87 there. I remember that we split our meal tab, but I must have been talked into picking up the full bar tab of about 4 pitchers I think and a shot or two each.
We Ubered back to the hotel and then went over to the Tiki Bar next door. All I remember is tasting the sweet rumrunner I had. Ric said I had a couple of those and we drank beer and had french fries but he said I was passing out at the bar so I guess he picked up the tab there since I see no charges from there on my card and the only cash I'm down is $20 I gave him for half the Uber bill. Nevertheless, another triple digit drink fest night out with Ric.
We checked out at 10am Sunday and had breakfast in Lake Mary. Back at his condo, Ric needed a nap so he laid down for a couple hours while I watched his TV in the living room. I probably should have napped too 'cause I was still feeling tired and slightly hungover so I was a little cranky and jibbing him about stupid things like his dusty house, a broken sink stopper in his bathroom and the pervasive smell of his whole condo (I think it's Pragnesh, his weird roommate...Ric probably is acclimated to it now since he said he didn't notice it.)
I even spilled out a rather tactless and insensitive joke when he complained about his upset stomach he'd been suffering with all morning, he joked he might have stomach cancer. I quipped, "Oh, and you have no gun to cure it with." (His father shot himself while suffering with terminal stomach cancer about 20 years ago.) He smirked, thought a minute or two and said "Oh I could say something if I were as bad as you." I said "Go for it!" So he said "Well, at least my mom wasn't Lt. Dan." (My mother had both legs amputated and soon thereafter died of blood clot complications. Lt. Dan was the Gary Sinese character in "Forrest Gump" who also had his legs amputated.) Good one. Now normally, supposed "friends" making light of each other's parent's misery and death isn't seen as, well, normal. But I'm pretty sure Ric, like me, wasn't upset about these jibs. But, then again, in light of what was to come, maybe I did go a bit too far.
We planned on spending the evening at the newly opened Top Golf across the street from his condo complex. Like, literally across the street. It looks weird, its 100 foot high netting, all in what for years I'd known as a lot of woods. I had seen these places in Vegas and Orlando so I knew what they were and I was mildly interested but Ric had said it was expensive and even though he was saying he had a coupon so he was gonna pay for the booth rental, I knew that meant I'd likely pick up the drinks and food, or at least the majority of it.
But it also wasn't just a cost thing. We got there and it was everything I was afraid it would be. Massive A-Hole jock types, in-your-face staff, a freakin' gift shop as you entered, a mandatory sign-up demanding your personal info like email and phone number and heights, which I'm not a fan of. And the TVs were not at your pod so I guess we would have to later jockey for position in the spartan-furnished bar area when the Super Bowl would be on. I balked that I had to pay a $5 membership fee and give up my name, zip code, email, phone number. Ric said it was just so you could have an account in the system if you ever went to another Top Golf but I know it's info harvesting.
I was set to just enter in fake info and Ric blew up. He screamed at me "Just forget it! You can leave!" I snapped back "Fine! That's exactly what I want!" and grabbed my phone off the table and stormed out. I'm sure many people were staring. It was a bit of a scene. But, for once, it was Ric that had reached that "last nerve" point and caused the drama. I walked back to his condo, waited in my car until he walked back soon afterwards, went up to his unit, got my overnight bag, gave it to me and ignored me, even though I was explaining to him why I was being the way I was. He just gave me the old silent treatment, other than mumbling that he was going to bike back there as he was getting his bike out of his car.
So I made the long drive home as the sun eased down below the horizon to my right. I traveled south through the heart of Florida as the Super Bowl got underway just some 50 miles to the west. And as Ric was likely watching that game from his over-priced super-spreader venue, I moved on down the winding road as the sunlight winked out and darkness descended. A metaphor for the end of this fucked up, codependent, toxic swamp of our so-called "friendship."