Us Animals

Dogs bury bones,
and I’ve buried mine.

Sows eat their young,
because it saves time.

Cats lick their paws,
until they are clean.

Rats pick at flaws,
most often unseen.

Lambs softly shiver,
all through the night.

Wolves howl and quiver,
with hungry delight.

All of us animals,
swimming in sin.

All of us drowning,
before we begin.

A Scale of One to Ten - #1

I walked into Dairy Mart with a twenty dollar bill that was about to be broken by a large coffee, a cherry turnover, and fifteen bucks worth of gas that didn’t even fill my truck halfway up. I doctored my coffee and took it and my turnover to the counter, smiled politely at the checkout girl. I assessed her in a little less than two seconds and quickly came to the conclusion that the girl was a 6, maybe a 6.5 if she fixed herself up. Her ass was too wide for the slacks she was wearing and the standard issue Dairy Mart golf shirt didn’t do her chest any favors, but if I saw her at a bar and it was last call, she would do.


“You want any scratch-offs or pick threes today?” she asked, oblivious to me and my evaluation.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said. “I’ve got too many millions to deal with as it is.”

The checkout girl laughed sardonically as she rang up my goodies, but was looking past me when she took my twenty.

“I was also on pump three,” I said, barely catching her before she finished punching keys on the cash register. She looked slightly annoyed at my late information, but kept looking past me as if I were opaque and bothersome. The girl gave me my change and thanked me in a monotone as she closed the register. I stuffed the meager remnants of the twenty into my front pocket and swiped up my breakfast, mumbled a thank you in the girl’s general direction. As I went out the door I heard the girl starting a conversation with someone local, an actual live exchange of dialogue, and I couldn’t help but be a little jealous. Here I was, a decent enough guy; young, not bad looking, fairly articulate, good job, and yet I couldn’t garner a second glance from a checkout girl that I wasn’t really interested in anyway.

I got to the office twenty minutes early like I do every morning and started banging away at my keyboard as soon as I had refilled my coffee. Every few minutes, another one of my cubicle brothers or sisters walks past me and gives me a fake-friendly smile or a short wave and then they make their way to their own keyboards and cups of coffee. Within an hour they are weaving between each others’ cubicles, sharing information about what happened over the weekend or the latest gossip about who pissed who off and that we’re all getting downsized, it’s only a matter of time.

There are four women in the office and I’ll itemize them here for you exactly the way I see them. I admit that my scale is subject to my own unique tastes, but my evaluations are thorough and for the most part accurate. Let’s go in reverse order.

Weakness

I’m always the last person to fall asleep. It doesn’t matter if I’m tired, if the lights are on or off, if I take a Valium chased with two or three bourbon and Cokes. I lay with my eyes wide open in between long, hard blinks and listen to the house creak and sigh. This place is weathered and brittle, an ancient brick monolith converted into a townhouse that is a contrast of new and old. We have high speed internet service, but my roommates and I cannot take consecutive showers without the hot water running out. Cable television in every room, yet the floors sag and the paint is chipping. Progress, huh? I guess so. But most of the time I think I’m just running in place, moving just enough to avoid being swept into the past. Today was a perfect example.

Reciprocity

“Well, what do you want?”
Mike picked up his chopsticks and awkwardly situated them between his fingers, wondered if Japanese actually ate their food with such an impractical utensil. Mike thought that maybe the chopsticks were just a part of some conspiracy, that the waiters and waitresses just put them out so they could laugh at their patrons, especially buttoned down, conservative types like Mike. Mike knew that he didn’t look the part of comedic foil, that his ironed, collared shirt and pleated khakis made him feel inconspicuous in most company. Most of the time Mike blended in just fine, nodded when he was supposed to nod, smiled when it was appropriate, threw in a disaffected laugh every now and then. But this wasn’t most of the time. Now Mike was dealing with Bobby, and one thing Bobby could see through, had always seen through, was bullshit.
“I guess I’m not that much different from anyone else,” Mike said. “I want a good job, a good woman, a nice hou...”
“No, I mean what do you want to eat. I hate to keep a lady waiting.”
Mike looked up from his chopsticks and saw a petite Asian lady standing next to the table with a patient, but amused smile on her face. Mike could feel his cheeks heating up and he grinned painfully at the waitress. Bobby watched Mike fumble with his menu and Mike let out an “uhmm” and a “let’s see here” before Bobby took control of the situation, like Bobby always did, always had.
“I think we need a few more minutes to check out the menu,” Bobby said, looking the waitress in the eye, smiling confidently. “I do know that we need some drinks, though. I’d like a Miller Lite, a shot of sake, and I think my buddy would like the same, if his tastes are still the same. We haven’t talked for weeks and this is the first time we’ve actually been out together in months. Can you believe that? Months.”
The waitress smiled back at Bobby and scribbled on her notepad. Bobby winked at Mike and took a sip of his water. Mike perked up like he was going to say something and Bobby stopped him before he could get out word one.
“On second thought,” Bobby said, “I think we’d like a couple TsingTao’s instead of the Miller Lite’s.”
The waitress made a couple quick scratches in her notebook and walked away before Mike could voice his disagreement with the drink order. Mike finally found his voice a few seconds later, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“You’re going to have to drink that stuff yourself,” Mike said.
“What, you don’t like sake? And TsingTao, that’s not bad beer. I mean, I know Miller Lite is usually your brand, but I figured when in Rome...”
“No, what I’m saying is that I don’t drink anymore. I haven’t touched a drop in six months.”