FUCK!

FUCK!

               I got held up at the welfare office since the Zionist girl wanted to know why I did what I did and why I was wearing my anti-Israel gear.

I explained to her I was protesting the war and the massive poverty that ensued in my hometown and in the rest of the country.  All the bloodshed in the rest of the world so a few rich Christians and Jews could get rich off the rest of us.  Next, I tried to draw a comparison between the Zionist state and South Africa using the word “apartheid” but she wasn’t all that informed.  We got to talking about Martin Luther King Jr. and finally she started to get it.  I asked her for her number and she said no.

By the time I got rejected, by the time I got out of there, I didn’t have time to get to the bank and cash my check.  I prayed on my way to Courtney’s house that she would have some booze or at least some marijuana.

I knocked on her door and she answered, smiling, of course.  Even though I showed up unannounced.

               Courtney let me in.  I almost took off my shoes but thought better of it.  I didn’t want to stink up the joint.  I had running pants two sizes too big sagging around my knees so I wouldn’t need to take them off to fuck.  She’d never know about my toenails and toe jam.

               She told me to sit down, so I did.  I was inconspicuous about it and sat far away from where she was standing.  I spread my legs at a sixty degree angle to try to look cool.

               She said something about going to the kitchen but I wasn’t listening and just said, “Yeah.”

               She disappeared.

               A bunch of her baby’s toys lay scattered around.  I thought somebody should clean them up.  Somebody could trip or twist their ankle.

               Courtney came back with a bong full of ice and a freshly packed bowl of marijuana.  She offered me green and I said no.

               “Do you have any booze?”

               She rolled her eyes and said, “There’s some Skyy in the cabinet above the stove.”

               Walking past her, I was careful not to step on one of her burden’s playthings.  Maybe I’d get brownie points for being respectful.

               I entered the kitchen.  It was much cleaner than the living room.  I headed straight for the liquor cabinet and found the vodka.

               “Do you have ice?” I hollered.

               “You’re fucking dumb, Paul!” she shouted back.  I heard the gurgle of her smoking her water pipe.

               “I was trying to be polite!” I flirted back, or tried to.  I pushed the lever and nothing came out.

               Dumb bitch, I thought.

               I opened the freezer and grabbed one of her ice trays.  I got three ice cubes out and didn’t drop any on the floor.  Vodka and ice filled the glass half way.

               “I see you’re a glass half-full guy,” Courtney joked when I returned.  Again I sat down across from her, keeping my distance.  Again, I tried to look cool by spreading my legs at a sixty degree angle.  Then I went sixty-five - for emphasis.

               “What are you trying to say?” I angled my eyebrows at her, gave her a little sneer.  Showed her my gap tooth.

               “Oh, nothing,” she flirted, smiling.

               I’m so in, I thought.  Then I checked my phone.  We still had a couple hours before her man got off work.

               She tried to pass me the bong but I just sipped my vodka and said no.

               Wails and moans of distress and agony echoed through her hallway and into the living room.

               “Oh no!” Courtney said.

               Goddamn it, I thought.

               She set her bong down.  Apologizing, she backed out of the living room.  Finally she turned around before she entered the hallway and I couldn’t help but see her butt.  It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for but that didn’t matter.

               Minutes went by.  The baby was still crying.  I couldn’t help but notice my surroundings.  I was bored.  I looked at the freshly vacuumed carpet.  The baby’s toys.  The coasters and magazines on the coffee table.  National Geographic.  Men’s Journal.  Rolling Stone.

               I set my drink down on my coaster and put my head in my hands.  This was objectively a bad idea.  Courtney probably hadn’t wanted to hook up.  She either wanted to be friends or she wanted to fuck with me because of all the horrible things I had said online or to make her husband jealous or she was just a bored, flirty woman.  It didn’t matter.  I was starting to get it.

               “I have to change his diaper!” Courney shouted from around the corner.  “This is going to take awhile.  I’m so sorry!”

               Vodka and ice became one in my glass.  It began to look more and more like a refreshing glass of water.  Losing all strength and succumbing to my boredom and diminishing hope, I drank it all.

I could hear her wiping the kid’s ass.  I didn’t want to see his poop.  I sure could smell it though.

I looked down into the empty glass – the abyss.  I looked back at the kitchen.  The hallway.  The magazines.  The toys.  My leg in an involuntary manner began to rhythmically and intensely shake up and down.  The liquor cabinet screamed out to me while the baby moaned and cried and screamed.

“There, there,” Courtney said to it, soothingly.  “Almost done.”

I couldn’t take it anymore and shouted, “Something’s just come up, Courtney!  I need to drive my Dad to the hospital!”

She shouted and asked me to wait.  I thought about ripping the bong but said fuck it and left.  I was careful not to slam the door but I practically ran down the street toward the bank.  By the time I got there it was after hours and both ATM’s were out of service.

“Fuck!” I screamed up at the heavens.

No more alcohol.

“Fuck!”