shortstories

Lost Wallet

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Me and the mates were heading to a beach bar.  Beer time, somewhere. As we were walking down the sandy path, I padded my pockets.  Holy shit dudes, I forgot my wallet. They turned, looked at me and rolled their eyes. They continued. I stood alone and watched them move away, brothers in arms. Sand crusted my eyes.

I ran back to the room. They were cabin style with white exteriors and lime green shutters.  An orange tiki lamp with a warrior face lit  my room number, 16A. My bag was on a wicker bench outside the room. I opened the bag and frantically searched for my wallet. It wasn’t there. I couldn’t go back to the bar.  My mates would disown me.  I played the lame excuse card too many times.

I went to the hotel desk. No one was there, so I rang the bell. The clerk came out, he was wearing a lobster bib and chewing horror. The smell emanating from him was atrocious like rotting feet wrapped in a poopy baby diaper. Holy shit, I said.  What are you eating? Oh, just a family recipe. I said, I’ve got a huge problem. I can’t seem to find my wallet. Has anyone turned in a wallet? He shook his head. Is there any way I can get a couple of hundred and put it on my tab. You can just charge it to the card I used for the room. He shook his head. Ok, I said, can I have another room key? I’ve lost that as well. He went behind the counter and gave me 16A. The silver metal sparkled with orange tiki light.

I went back to the room. The key wouldn’t work.  I yanked and twisted  the knob like a full bladder man. I needed my wallet. Moisture swept across my brow. My hands shook and my feet swelled. Finally the door swung open.  On the wall was an ocean portrait, waves crashing and splashing on a rock in light blue and grey. The picture was new to me. Looking at it made me tired. I laid down on the brown and yellow striped polyester bed cover. I closed my eyes.

We were travelling to a large major city, frantically looking for a place to stay. I looked at the map.  Red lines spread across busy intersecting lines. So many lines; it was hard to plan a route.  I wasn’t driving. At the wheel was a person I did not know. I asked her, have we met? She said, what do you think? I said,  we need to find a place before it gets dark. She laughed. I said, do you live here? She laughed again with tiki light.

When I woke up, it was dark outside. I walked to the bar, but it was closed. Then I went to the front desk and asked the sweet pea smelling clerk, have you seen my friends? He said, they checked out days ago.

Navy Ship

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Last night I was on this Navy ship. All military metal with haze gray walls. We are about to get torpedoed by a submarine. I ask the captain why are they shooting at us? He says they don’t trust us. They want to shoot before we do. They want the advantage. Fear. Too much fear.

I go to the bottom deck and look out a portal window,  brass frame with rivets like bullet ends. I  watch the torpedoes come charging towards the ship. Long copper cylinders with thick turbulent white water following. The missiles hit, but I feel nothing.

I take the elevator to the main deck. Inside is an empty linen cart, the kind they use in hospitals. I enter an enclosed area.  No doors, only military gray walls and the steel elevator door. I want to go behind the walls because that’s where the injured people are. I want to help, but I can’t get beyond the walls.  I can hear doctors and nurses operating on people – horrible sounds of confusion and anxiety, metal on metal, clanging. I feel useless. I have no control.

Two people come out from the surgery area. They walk through the wall. One injured sailor has no issues. He says they let him go. Another guy comes out with a serious eye injury. He has a patch over it, the fabric spotted with blood stains. I help him back through the wall, but it blocks me.

I take the released guy to the top deck. I ask him what’s going on in there. He says, many injuries from the attack, but the medical staff are doing a great job.  I ask him if he has any injuries. He says, they thought he had a brain issue, but they let him go after he spent several hours in a dark room.  He watched Gandhi videos.  He gets off the elevator and says thanks for the chat.

I take the elevator down to the main deck. I notice a “B” button on the elevator. I press it but it doesn’t turn green, it goes red. I keep pressing but the light doesn’t change.  I can’t go down any further, even though I did before the attack. I wait on the main floor waiting to see if anyone needs a ride on the elevator. A useless job, I know, but it’s something.

The guy with the eye injury shows up again. He says he doesn’t belong here. He wants to go outside. I say it’s not a good idea to wander on the top deck especially if you can’t see. He says he can see just fine. The waves are very high, I explain. And the water is freezing. You’d die of hypothermia. He touches his eye. A nurse comes through the wall and pulls the bad eye guy back into the operating area.

I take the elevator up. I want some fresh air. I get off the elevator. A sign I didn’t see before  says, “Open Air” with an arrow pointing up. I turn the handle, but it doesn’t move. I go to the elevator and press the down button, but it’s red. I press the button, rapidly, violently as many times as I can as if I were at a cross walk signal. A nurse comes out and takes me beyond the wall.

Earl’s Spicy Cajun Sandwich with Cheddar

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Aged cheddar, lettuce, tomatoes, on a toasted bun

The next stop on the Spicy Chicken trail is Earls, a sit down restaurant chain popular in Canada with a few American locations in Illinois, Colorado and Florida among other spots.

This time out, I had the pleasure of dining with a co-worker who has many “conditions.” One time we went to a lake for a day picnic.  We get to this beautiful oasis in the middle of the prairies and as we’re driving around she  notices there’s not a tree or sparkle of shade anywhere. The look on her face. I’d say she went as white as a ghost, but that’s her natural appearance.  As she stepped out of the car, I swore I heard her skin sizzle like a raw slab of meat on a barbecue. Five minutes later we headed back to the city. Air conditioner on full blast. We never went on another picnic.

We get to Earl’s and after moving to three different tables – “I’m freezing. Is this under the air conditioner?”  “Oh my God will those children please shut up.” “I can’t see the fire exit. What if there’s a fire?” We finally find a seat. Our pleasant server comes over and takes our order. My friend asks for water and lemon, no ice. She’s got enough ice running through her veins. The server returns.

“I said no ice. Gawd. Do you understand English?” I have to lower my head. I can’t look at the poor server who doesn’t deserve this.

“Can’t you be a bit more pleasant?” I ask. I look over and watch the the waitress stir her new drink with a freshly sanitized finger. If not for the pandemic, I know what she would have done. I don’t blame her.

Our food arrives. I have the Spicy Cajun Sandwich with cheddar. My friend has a Caesar salad and a very soggy margarita pizza. As we are leaving she says, “I hope you didn’t tip her very well.” I tipped her thirty percent for the trauma she had to deal with. Loss of work due to the pandemic and shitty customers, servers should get an automatic fifty.

Now on to the Spicy Chicken Sandwich. Liking dining with my ex-friend, it was a horrible experience. Firstly who puts cheddar with cajun? A terrible combination. The meat was very very dry and covered in so much breading, I thought I was licking the floor of a sawmill. And way, way too much bun (I also wondered if the bun wasn’t left over from the last pandemic shut down three months ago). The meat was as hidden as a turkey at Thanksgiving and the spice as scared as a bleached skinned woman at a scorching beach.

Well the good thing is I won’t go back to this restaurant for awhile. Not only was the sandwich horrible, but I need many many months before the memory of my friend dissipates from server memory.