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Whirlwind
"C'mon. Go to Tripps with me."
"no."
"Ah c'mon. Ya need to get out anyway. I'll pick you up in an hour."
"I don't want to."
"Please. Pretty please."
"A'ight, I'll go, but I'm 'as is', screw this playin' dress-up bullshit."
And on that note I hung up the phone. Resigned to the fact that I had to go out to a bar with my sister. Not that hanging with my sister was a bad thing, it was the bar, T.K. Tripps. Tripps was one of those brass and fern places that the yellow tie yuppies, and their big hair bettys considered "our bar".
I loathed that place. The food was alright, but the atmosphere stunk with pretension.
My sister picks me up. As we get to the parking lot, I look at my watch and calmly tell her "One Hour. TOPS." She agrees, then we go in.
As we walk into the place, that "check-out hush" happens. You know, the weird quiet moment that happens when you go into a place where folks are there "to be seen", the rooms gets quiet for a split second.
As the din of the crowd starts back up, I hear "Renee, we're over here!". Seems my sister is meeting friends from work here as well.
"one hour... tops." I whisper to her as we walk over to her friends.
"We saved ya'll a seat." Then the introductions start,
"Hi. You must be Markham. I'm Peggy." She extends her hand. I shake it.
Well hey there Miss Peggy, how're you? My ass is outta here in 59 minutes and 13 seconds. I think to myself.
"...and this is Dave."
How 'bout it there Redfaced Dave, how's the blood pressure? Aren't you the one screwing around on your wife? My sister has told me all about you.
"...this is John..."
John! Man! How the hell are you. It's been like forever. No seriously John, we've never met. No I'm not your best pal. Leave me alone John, you're skeeving me out.
"...and this is Leslie."
Hey. How's it going? You're do-able. Oh holycrap, are you really that tall, or are you standing in your chair?
After we all exchange niceties, and hand shakes, the group goes back to their respective conversations. The two woman are talking amongst themselves, the two guys are talking to themselves. My sister and I are sitting at our end of the table, quietly trying to kickstart our own conversation, as the waitress asks "Drink?"
June 7th, 1989 - 7:15 p.m. Only fifty seven more minutes to go.
5/23/2005 10:19:00 PM
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