Drinking to Forget

"God, I must be drinking," he mumbled to himself as he rummaged through his wallet, in search of his bank card. "Where’d I put the damn card?"

He searched through the wallet for a few more seconds, until it dawned on him that he had placed the card in his right front pants pocket after opening his tab. “Jesus Christ,” he said, as he smacked the card down onto the mahogany bar to pay for his drinks.

The room was quickly becoming empty at this point. The two co-workers sat, her on his left side, two and three seats from the end of the semi-circular bar. The lobby of the restaurant echoed with the sounds of trickling water as the atrium fountain continued into the night. The small 20-inch television over the bar glowed the bright red of SportsCenter, and classic rock music rang softly from the bar stereo speakers.

He brought the beer up to his lips and took a long sip, and then turned to her. "Where were we?"

"I'm pretty sure you were discussing how much of an asshole our boss is," Maureen said.

"Oh yeah." James replied. "Not sure how I could forget that." The words came quickly to his brain, but the filter of alcohol slowed them to his lips. He started work on his fourth drink of the now-long evening, and the fog began to thicken a little.

A mid-40’s businessman in a bad wool suit coat pushed his stool back from the other side of the bar with a loud squawk. He eased himself off of the seat and trudged slowly toward the exit, just as if he’d done it a thousand times before in a thousand different bars. The only other remaining patron aside from the two of them-—a bubbly woman of about 35 years with spiked bangs from an 80’s music video and a royal blue University of Kentucky sweatshirt on-—gabbed intolerably on her cell phone to her "baby," repeatedly telling him how much she missed him and missed home. Not surprisingly, she was nursing a Coors light.

"He just makes me tired all over," James said, finishing up his impeded thoughts on the subject of their supervisor. "I mean, what’s the point of repeatedly beating me into submission?"

"What do you mean?"

"It’s like," he paused as if to clear the words in his head. "I get it. You’re smart. I’m dumb. You’re good at your job. I apparently am not." He trailed off.

"Wow," she mustered. "I knew you were unhappy, but..."

"Maybe I'm just letting it get to me too much," he interrupted her. "I mean, it seems like I'm always the only one doing the complaining. Everyone else seems to be able to work with him just fine, even if they don't like him."

"Yeah," she said sarcastically, and took a sip of her drink. "We sure do."

Silence followed her for about 15 seconds. "What time is it?" she said. "I think I need another drink before I get out of here."

"I’m buying. It’s the least I can do after piling on all of my problems. You’re a saint for putting up with my incessant bitching for the last half hour." He signaled the bartender.

The woman of about 40 in the forced tuxedo came by and took Maureen’s order of a Smirnoff Ice. "Nice cummerbund," he said with a chuckle. The bartender smiled, half with annoyance and yet half with self-deprecating agreement.

Ha glanced at his watch and rubbed his eyes. "Man, it’s starting to get late, and I didn't peg you for the type to go back to the well one more time at this hour."

"We've all got problems, man," she said.

A cheesy Dave Matthews song came into his head. "So, what are you drinking to forget?"

Why we're here...

It occurred to me in a conversation I was recently having with an old acquaintance that I always liked writing, and was always decent enough at it. I have my other blog, but it has largely become predominantly devoted to sports discussion (hey, one thing I always liked more than writing was sports!) and shameless plugs for my band.

From time to time I like to flex the other muscles of my writing, and this little blog will be devoted to such endeavors. Hence, the birth of One Trick Pony, a nod to the fact that my current blog has become such.

I anticipate not updating this blog as often as my other, but the plan is to post things I'm working on in the hopes that doing so will cause me to write more. Most of what I write could best be described as 'short fiction beginnings' that are ideas I have or scenarios that may never come to any resolution, or that I haven't spent enough time with to really have let the characters decide where they want to go.

So, hey... if you're feeling ambitious, take anything here and run with it. Collaborative writing can be fun!

Let the games begin...