A Po-boy's tale of Nawlins Dinner and a Movie Chapter 2
Dinner and a Movie (as told by Scraps)
Thursday, 8:00 P.M.
I’ve been working this job now for almost two weeks. The hours are laughable. I wake up every morning at 5:30, walk a half an hour to a co-workers house, and then arrive at work around 6:30. I then bust my ass for this douchebag landscaper for roughly eleven hours a day. I only have one half hour break the entire day for lunch, and I usually don’t have time in the morning to make a lunch so I just try to scrounge up whatever I can from the others. I don’t really get paid that much, but all the hours will add up and eventually, I will get a huge paycheck.
But, I’ve about had it with this job, and when I came home Thursday night I came home to Rusty passed out on the couch with a huge plate of french fries and a half of a grinder in front of him. It was a beautiful thing. After hoofing down his food, I woke him up. I don’t think he even noticed.
“How was work man?” He asked.
“It sucked man, I fucking string-trimmed for five hours. When I was finally done my arm wouldn’t stop shaking for like ten minutes. Then I fucking had to shovel rocks into the back of a truck, then drive back to the shop, and shovel the rocks out of the truck.”
“I had a rough day, too.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Jeanie broke up with me,”
“No shit. Sweet, I fucking hated that bitch.”
“Yeah.” He just agreed with me, but I could tell he was upset.
“Lets go get drunk.”
“Hell yeah,”
I like Rusty a lot. He is a standup guy, wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly. But, sometimes that is his problem, you know what I mean? He never really stands up for himself, never does what he really wants to do, always goes with the flow. Jeannie was a bitch. She had him on a fucking leash. Had him all dolled up in pussy banana republic pants and yuppy shoes. She was a looker, and probably a hyena in the sack, but Rusty deserved better.
We went down the street to a dive bar and I ordered two shots of Beam. We took them down and I quickly asked for two more along with two Budweisers. About four shots and three beers deep Rusty started talking about New Orleans.
“You know who fucking called me earlier?” he slurred, “Billy, dude, fucking Billy,”
“No shit, what’s that pussy up to?”
He just laughed.
“That dude is crazy, man.”
“Yeah, remember when his leg caught on fire?”
We both laughed hard, and started reminiscing. It was 4/20 and there were about twenty kids at this ‘spot’ where Billy and all his lame ass hippie friends used to go to smoke weed. Well, Billy was really drunk that night, like he is every night, and he had earlier chopped all of his long ass hair into a mohawk. Accept it wasn’t a real good mohawk. He had originally wanted to shave his entire head but about half way through had already gotten bored of sitting in the chair, so he was like ‘just leave it as a mohawk’ and he had this big patch of hair on the top of his head. I thought it looked rad, but everyone just laughed at him. But, anyway we were at this spot and one of Billy’s pyro friends had made a Sterno candle out of a beer can. Billy, being the moron that he is, thought that if he stomped on the candle the fire would go out. He was just doing it to make his pyro friend mad, but when he stomped on the candle his jeans caught fire, and his leg was on fire. He was hopping around for like 3 minutes and all Rusty and I could do was just fucking laugh, the site of this little mohawked dude with his leg on fire was too much to handle. Then, we tried to stomp it out, we were stomping hard on his leg and the fire wouldn’t go out for another good five minutes. He hung out all night drinking with us. Then the next day, Rusty was delivery driving and he sees this dude with a mohawk limping down the street dribbling a basketball. Billy fucking played basketball with third degree burns on his leg, he was a tough little fucker. That was probably the nastiest scar I’ve ever seen in my life. Billy wouldn’t go to the doctors for it either until like four days after it happened. He tried to bandage it himself and the burn just got worse and worse and eventually infected. I’m surprised they didnt fucking amputate his leg.
“So what did Billy want?”
“He is at his new girlfriends house, you remember that chick from down the shore?
“Ahh yes, how did Billy pull that one off?
“No clue,”
“But, dude they’re coming to Pittsburgh tonight,”
“Tits dude, tits,”
“Yeah man, they are going to New Orleans this weekend,”
“New Orleans?”
“Yeah man, I think I’m gonna go with them,”
“Really?”
“Yeah, dude. I mean, I haven’t done anything fun in fucking forever. All I do is see lame ass movies with Jeannie, go out to dinner, go to expensive fucking bars with people I don’t like. Tell me the last time you went out with Billy and didn’t laugh your ass off?”
“I’m down dude.”
“What about your job?”
“Fuck that man, I hate that shit,”
“Do you have any money?”
“Fuck no,”
“I’ll spot you man, it’ll be the shit,”
“Tits dude, tits.”
Thursday, 8:00 P.M.
I’ve been working this job now for almost two weeks. The hours are laughable. I wake up every morning at 5:30, walk a half an hour to a co-workers house, and then arrive at work around 6:30. I then bust my ass for this douchebag landscaper for roughly eleven hours a day. I only have one half hour break the entire day for lunch, and I usually don’t have time in the morning to make a lunch so I just try to scrounge up whatever I can from the others. I don’t really get paid that much, but all the hours will add up and eventually, I will get a huge paycheck.
But, I’ve about had it with this job, and when I came home Thursday night I came home to Rusty passed out on the couch with a huge plate of french fries and a half of a grinder in front of him. It was a beautiful thing. After hoofing down his food, I woke him up. I don’t think he even noticed.
“How was work man?” He asked.
“It sucked man, I fucking string-trimmed for five hours. When I was finally done my arm wouldn’t stop shaking for like ten minutes. Then I fucking had to shovel rocks into the back of a truck, then drive back to the shop, and shovel the rocks out of the truck.”
“I had a rough day, too.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Jeanie broke up with me,”
“No shit. Sweet, I fucking hated that bitch.”
“Yeah.” He just agreed with me, but I could tell he was upset.
“Lets go get drunk.”
“Hell yeah,”
I like Rusty a lot. He is a standup guy, wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly. But, sometimes that is his problem, you know what I mean? He never really stands up for himself, never does what he really wants to do, always goes with the flow. Jeannie was a bitch. She had him on a fucking leash. Had him all dolled up in pussy banana republic pants and yuppy shoes. She was a looker, and probably a hyena in the sack, but Rusty deserved better.
We went down the street to a dive bar and I ordered two shots of Beam. We took them down and I quickly asked for two more along with two Budweisers. About four shots and three beers deep Rusty started talking about New Orleans.
“You know who fucking called me earlier?” he slurred, “Billy, dude, fucking Billy,”
“No shit, what’s that pussy up to?”
He just laughed.
“That dude is crazy, man.”
“Yeah, remember when his leg caught on fire?”
We both laughed hard, and started reminiscing. It was 4/20 and there were about twenty kids at this ‘spot’ where Billy and all his lame ass hippie friends used to go to smoke weed. Well, Billy was really drunk that night, like he is every night, and he had earlier chopped all of his long ass hair into a mohawk. Accept it wasn’t a real good mohawk. He had originally wanted to shave his entire head but about half way through had already gotten bored of sitting in the chair, so he was like ‘just leave it as a mohawk’ and he had this big patch of hair on the top of his head. I thought it looked rad, but everyone just laughed at him. But, anyway we were at this spot and one of Billy’s pyro friends had made a Sterno candle out of a beer can. Billy, being the moron that he is, thought that if he stomped on the candle the fire would go out. He was just doing it to make his pyro friend mad, but when he stomped on the candle his jeans caught fire, and his leg was on fire. He was hopping around for like 3 minutes and all Rusty and I could do was just fucking laugh, the site of this little mohawked dude with his leg on fire was too much to handle. Then, we tried to stomp it out, we were stomping hard on his leg and the fire wouldn’t go out for another good five minutes. He hung out all night drinking with us. Then the next day, Rusty was delivery driving and he sees this dude with a mohawk limping down the street dribbling a basketball. Billy fucking played basketball with third degree burns on his leg, he was a tough little fucker. That was probably the nastiest scar I’ve ever seen in my life. Billy wouldn’t go to the doctors for it either until like four days after it happened. He tried to bandage it himself and the burn just got worse and worse and eventually infected. I’m surprised they didnt fucking amputate his leg.
“So what did Billy want?”
“He is at his new girlfriends house, you remember that chick from down the shore?
“Ahh yes, how did Billy pull that one off?
“No clue,”
“But, dude they’re coming to Pittsburgh tonight,”
“Tits dude, tits,”
“Yeah man, they are going to New Orleans this weekend,”
“New Orleans?”
“Yeah man, I think I’m gonna go with them,”
“Really?”
“Yeah, dude. I mean, I haven’t done anything fun in fucking forever. All I do is see lame ass movies with Jeannie, go out to dinner, go to expensive fucking bars with people I don’t like. Tell me the last time you went out with Billy and didn’t laugh your ass off?”
“I’m down dude.”
“What about your job?”
“Fuck that man, I hate that shit,”
“Do you have any money?”
“Fuck no,”
“I’ll spot you man, it’ll be the shit,”
“Tits dude, tits.”
posted by Frank Lee at 7:08 AM
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