Perhaps one of the best times to people-watch is on any given Friday,
around 5pm. Right at this moment, everyone begins to transform from their
weekday employee persona to their more true to life weekend persona. It
doesn’t matter where you are, if you look close enough you’ll see it. It
could be the girl wearing a suit, sitting next to you on the bus ride home
who suddenly lounges back in her seat while subconsciously ruffling her
hair, as she thinks of the fitted black leather skirt she plans to wear on
a date set up for the night. It could be a web designer who spent his
entire day keeping quietly to himself in a cubicle, who is now sitting in
the back of cab, screaming away on his cell phone non-stop trying to set
up in parallel, plans for pre-drinks with his roommates, a dinner with his
boys, a guest list at a club, and of course, trying to persuade a few lady
friends to meet up with them later on.
The Rountree was always a text book case of the 5pm transformation
phenomenon. This Friday seemed to be extra insane. Marc and Trent were now
5 or 6 rounds into their “quick after work drink”. They had spent the last
half hour sitting and having a good laugh at the expense of everyone else.
They were put in hysterics by what clearly looked and sounded like an
office work team awkwardly trying to have a social drink. When the team of
6 co-workers arrived, dressed in matching golf shirts, they were well
behaved and taking cues from the team leader. All of them were trying
their best to look engaged and enthralled with what each other had to say.
At first their conversations were safe little work chats. The entire table
was reduced to saying inconsequential things like, Ohhh wow, I’m sure
glad we won the McCormick account this week. There’s still a lot of work
ahead of us… but, hey... it’s good to be busy. As the first round of
drinks were brought to their table, the team attempted to dive into the
personal realm, hoping to discuss weekend plans. It quickly became
evident, as the team showed its varied age, they had nothing in common. As
weekend plans to snowboard in the mountains, were compared to plans to go
shopping at Ikea, were compared to plans to go to twitch the night away at
a Chemical Brothers concert, were compared to plans to take their children
to soccer practice. Quickly after the first round was finished the team
parted for the weekend and went their separate ways. As they exited, each
team member quietly wondered if they said the right things or the wrong
things to the team, and if they’d be looked at funny back at the office,
first thing on Monday morning.
The moment the team left their table it was snagged by two girls. Two
girls who couldn’t have been more than 3 days older than 21. The pair of
girls appeared to be wonderfully cute, which was why Trent and Marc first
leered on. They would have eyed the girls up, made a few colorful comments
about them, and quickly moved on, but they noticed one of the girls was
crying and downing tequila shots at a feverish pace. How could the boys
resist temptation to eavesdrop on this conversation? From what they could
tell the two girls were secretaries who worked at the same company. They
also appeared to be friends from outside of work, based on the ease and
comfort in which they spoke to one another. The crying tequila girl was
freaking out because she had called her boyfriend late in the afternoon.
She had pushed the wrong buttons when they spoke, which in turn prompted
the boyfriend to break up with the girl. Marc overheard her tell her
friend that she had made plans to go straight to his place tonight to pick
up all of her belongings, but needed some liquid courage first. Her friend
tried to console her, but it seemed the tequila girl didn’t really want to
listen. There was no calming her, she’d just occasionally nod, stare at
her shoes, and fidget with strands of her strawberry red hair. The boys
carefully watched as this girl went from being sad and defeated to drunk
and angry. Marc repeatedly dared Trent to go and try to pick her up, since
“you know… she’s back on the market… and perhaps looking to score”. Trent
laughed at Marc’s suggestion, but figured a more righteous thing to do
would be to find the ex-boyfriends phone number to call him and warn him
of the upcoming visit from the enraged girlfriend, and perhaps suggest he
lock all the doors and windows of his house.
As tequila girl fired through a clichéd after break up rant about why
she’s “never ever fucking dating again”, she knocked over her friend’s
glass which was half full. Her animated arm movements sent the drink
flying across the table and on to the floor. The two girls were now
covered in remnants of a sugary blue cocktail. The consoler girl realized
now would be an ideal time to make an exit. Before anyone could notice the
soiled table, the girls were out the door and on route to the
ex-boyfriends house.
There was then yet another power struggle for the vacant table as
customers rallied for a place to sit. The Rountree was now packed. The
after work crowd was overthrown by the beginning of the evening crowd.
There was barely enough room to stand, let alone sit. This wasn’t a bad
thing though; this is when the Rountree was at its best. There was such a
vibe to the place. The crowd was getting diverse as the night began. Aside
from one-liner jokes, Trent and Marc had barely spoken in the last hour;
the people in the bar were entertainment enough. As Marc continued to look
around he noticed Sara walk in the front door. Pointlessly, he tried to
grab her attention by throwing an arm up to wave. She didn’t notice
because of the crowds. The boys were sitting at the back to left and she
was making her way across the front to the right.
Marc and Sara had quite the relationship. They met during their last year
of university. Sara literally ran into Marc at a random dorm party. That
night at the party she was busy entertaining her friends by performing her
best rendition of the running man while Sir-Mixx-A-Lot pumped out of the
stereo speakers. Marc was trying his best trying to navigate across the
party’s dance floor on his way to the kitchen, when Sara’s dance routine
projected her straight into Marc. Marc was hit by a rare case of grace and
charm that night and parlayed their collision into a conversation and
phone number written on a post-it note. Marc went home that night and
stuck the post it note to his bed frame and called her the next day.
Within a week Marc took Sara out, and within a week after that they were
dating.
Their dating relationship was the classic
university archetype. Of their time together, they spent about a third
studying, a third avoiding studying, and a third tearing each others
clothes off. Their relationship was full of hot and sweaty sex. Sex in
weird places and at weird times. Sex which left them with smiles on their
faces and temporary scars on their backs. It was to a point where their
passions constantly drove all of their friends crazy. And in turn, their
friends dealt with it by making awkward jokes about them when they were
all together. Despite the copious amounts of fun and licking and nudity,
their lust wasn’t based on love. Rather, the two of them were blindly
sowing their wild oats… in a mutually exclusive sort of way.
Before Marc, Sara had dated a guy for 8
years. Sara had met Marc less than a month after the relationship had
passed. Sara was always upfront with Marc and had told him that she wasn’t
looking to go emotionally overboard and that she’d need a lot of space.
Initially, Marc loved the whole “dating lite” concept. Because of their
arrangement they never fought, never had a bad time, and still managed to
have each others backs as they plowed through school and all the wonderful
B.S University brings along with it. The pair fit well together. Marc knew
the affair wouldn’t last forever, he didn’t over-think it, and took it day
by day, just enjoying the moments they had. That was until about the 6
month mark. Marc started to believe that maybe after all, the relationship
had some solid ground, and something real could become of it. Marc let his
guard down, and fate snuck up with a wicked sense of irony. A week later
Sara broke up with Marc, citing that things were getting too serious. Not
surprisingly, Marc was devastated.
In Sara’s defense, she did warn him from the get go. Too bad, logic and
love don’t mix.
For the next year Marc and Sara tried to remain friends. This was a
horrible social experiment, to say the least. They could barely hold a
conversation, let alone hang out together. Marc became a bumbling idiot
around her, which made things creepy for Sara. Sara’s resentment made
things worse for Marc. And just like in an episode of Dawson’s Creek, an
angst-filled vicious circle was created. They stopped speaking for a
while, stopped calling, and perhaps stopped caring. It wasn’t until Sara
ran into Marc downtown at a restaurant one idle summer evening before
things started to change. Sara saw Marc at the restaurant nestled in a
booth with some woman who couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. She saw
this and somehow comforted her that he had moved on, and even – just
slightly – seeing Marc with another girl made her envious.
When Marc’s date went to the restroom, Sara approached Marc to say hello
and see how he’d been. Marc ended up explaining to Sara that he was, in
fact, on a blind date with a girl who seemed to be only interested in two
things – (1) herself, and (2) working her way down the martini list. The
mystery date was hammered and embarrassing the hell out of Marc. He told
Sara he wished he could just press an eject button and leave. Sara smiled,
and disappeared. Marc continued his date from hell. About 15 minutes
later, Marc received a call on his cell phone. It was Sara calling from
the restaurant patio. She told him very quickly that if he wanted to
leave, he should tell his date that his sisters cat had died and he had to
leave *right now* to get home and to comfort her. Sara also mentioned
she’d have her car waiting out front to pick him up. 10 minutes later Marc
and Sara were laughing hysterically as they drove in her car back to his
place.
That night back at the house Marc and Sara realized how well they worked
together, and despite their efforts to act distant they really knew each
other inside out, and adored each other. They also realized dating and sex
was never ever going to work for them. Over time, their wounds healed,
their friendship grew, and their trust and faith in each other became
strong. They never really spoke to each other of their dating lives out of
respect for one another. Once in a blue moon, Marc found himself thinking
of Sara, and thinking of their time together (naked and otherwise),
wondering what things would have been like if they remained together after
all these years.
Today wasn’t one of those days. Today, Marc was laughing at Sara as she
pushed her way through the dense crowds, while she scanned the room for
her boys. Trent noticed the way many of the men in the room quickly
stopped to look at Sara, and then noticed the way the women with the men
would catch their wondering eyes. Trent then pointed and laughed as she
shut down a random man’s attempt to pick her up. Trent also commented on
how good Sara looked with her new hair style which seemed to make her once
dark messy hair, stylish and sexy. Marc then commented on how it was time
for another beer.
“Boys!”, Sara had finally found what she was looking for.
“Hello, darling!”, the boys took turns hugging her. She returned the
gesture, kissing them both on the cheek. Sara commented on how busy The
Rountree was, as she wondered to herself how the boys got such a good
seat.
The conversation started up instantly, “Hey, how was your interview
today?”, Marc inquired.
Sara wrinkled her nose, “Oh that… You know those interviews you go to and
you walk out of knowing that you nailed them? And you know those
interviews that you go to and walk out of knowing that you bombed them?”
The boys nodded.
“Well with this interview, I had no fucking idea what to think. I have no
idea if I’ll soon be a graphic designer for the city arts commission or if
I’ve just had the last 2 hours of my afternoon completely wasted!”
The boys didn’t know how to respond. Sara took a deep sip of her drink and
then turned to Marc, “But enough about me… what the hell was the deal with
you last night, Batman?!?!?”
Sara and Trent began to laugh hysterically. Marc swiftly hit Trent in the
arm, “Dude… I thought you said you didn’t tell her?!?”
Trent closed his eyes and lit up another cigarette, “Oh come on Batman…
your drunken antics are better than most of the sit-coms on TV! Actually
come to think of it, NBC really should have some interns spy on you and
just write scripts for shows just based solely on the things you do.”
Sara chimed in, “Yeah… so before NBC gets here… please do explain to me
the reason for your hasty departure last night. I heard you were playing
wingman for Trent here. I may not understand a thing about the male
population in this town, but I know that leaving your friend at the bar
just isn’t kosher!”
Marc felt like he was now pleading his case to a jury, “Look… I had too
much to drink… that’s all. I figured maybe leaving the place before I did
something… uhh… silly… was a good idea.”
The jury looked at each other and instantly made their verdict, “Liar!!!”
“Come on, Marc! We all know that you’re a trooper. Hell, you still hold
the record for longest keg stand… and you set that record during the first
week of classes, during our first semester of university. You didn’t drink
too much last night!”, again Trent’s comment hung in the air.
“Look man, I don’t know what happened last night, and again, I’m sorry. So
stop giving me the 3rd degree, ok? Let’s not forget I have enough stories
and gossip about each of you and the stupid things you’ve both done while
out for a drink. Do we really want to turn this into a competition?”, Marc
began to laugh.
Sara put her drink on the table, “Look, I’m fresh outta gin. I’m gonna
step to the bar and get another one. I’ll be back, keep the seats warm.”
Trent reached for Sara’s arm, “Actually darling… I was going to ask you
about that. What’s the deal with you suddenly drinking Dirty Martini’s…
it’s not the 1940’s you know?”
Sara began to stand up, “Look here fly boy, there’s nothing wrong with my
Dirty Martinis and extra olives fetish. Let’s just say it keeps the
immature college boys away.”
Trent turned to Marc, “Chicks man, chicks.” The trio laughed at each
other, yet again.
As Sara proceeded to the bar, Marc followed suit, “Sara wait…”
She paused and turned to face Marc, “Yeah?”
“Wait up a second. I need to head to the bathroom anyway.”
“Sure thing.”, Sara extended her arm.
Marc moved towards Sara, looping her arm around his, “You know… I’ll walk
with you, just incase the college boys still try to push their reckless
advances on you”.
Sara smiled as she fixed Marc’s shirt collar, “Thanks darling… actually
let’s stop at the jukebox real quick. I’ve got a wad of quarters I planned
to use for parking today but didn’t need them. They’ve turned my purse
into this big bad bulky anchor. I need to get rid of them fast. I noticed
they have an old White Stripes CD in the jukebox. I’m gonna play that disk
cover to cover. It’ll drive all the hipsters nuts. I can’t wait!”
Marc raised an eyebrow and laid on the sarcasm, “You’re such a
humanitarian, always helping others.”
Sara grinned as she loaded up the jukebox with quarters.
“Actually… speaking of helping others. I have a huge fucking bone to pick
with you! Do you remember when you and I hung out last?”
Marc tried his best to look busy playing with the buttons on the jukebox,
“Uhhh yeah… about a month ago right? We were at that film gala thingy that
you were invited too.”
“Yes, and do you remember how we went to that reception right after?”
“You bet.”
“Good, and do you not remember meeting those two guys from Diageo
Publishing at the reception?!”
“Of course I remember.”
“And do you not remember me spending the 2 weeks prior, gently chatting
them up, telling them about your writing and how wonderful you are, and
even going so far as to create a mini portfolio of your work… which I
emailed to them?!”, Sara’s voice was beginning to raise.
“Uh huh.”
“Then what the fuck!?!?”, she waited for a response but didn’t get one.
“Why didn’t you follow up your conversations with those guys… it could
have lead to something!”
Marc pushed play on the jukebox, the opening riff of Astro howled
out. “What are you talking about?!? I appreciate what you did, and they
were cool guys, but it wouldn’t have lead to anything.”
“Bullshit. It could have lead to something.”
“What? Assisting some jaded old guy or volunteering to do technical
writing?!?! For some obscure little company!?!? Yeah, right. It wouldn’t
have lead to anything. Let’s face it, what they do and what I do in are
like day and night.”
“So what?!?”, Sara snapped back, “I’m sure they’re well connected, and
they seemed to like you. All I know is that I looked like a complete fool
when I ran into them this week. They wondered why I hyped you up, and you
in turn snubbed them.”
“Look… Sara… I’m sorry, but it just didn’t seem right. And you did
suddenly spring this on me. It’s not like I asked you to connect me with
these guys”.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Marc… Get over yourself! You have a talent, and you
seem to spend all of your spare time locked away working on it. And when
it comes time to share it with an audience larger than your inner circle
of friends, you freak out. If you’re not going to celebrate your strengths
then who will?”
Marc began to formulate a rant in his head, he inhaled slowly to gain
clarity. As he was about to let loose on Sara, Trent walked up in between
the pair, and put his arms around the two of them.
“Hey, assholes… thanks so much for leaving me at the couch… alone. I love
it when you make me look cool like that!”, Trent’s voice was filled with
laughter.
Sara turned to Trent, “We’re sorry, darling, me and Mr. Marc, just got to
chatting.”
Marc snickered, “Yeah… we were busy talking about how lovely that stain
looks on your pants.”
The three of them were now laughing.
“Yes… well… as the night goes on, I’m sure that I’ll be working harder and
harder to find a lovely lady to help me get rid of these pants, anyways.
Now what do you say we get the hell outta here?”
Marc quickly surveyed the bar, “But it’s just getting good here. Where
next? What does the night hold for us, team? A night in? More Pubs?
Clubs?”
“Boys… don’t worry about a thing. I’m gonna play captain tonight. Here’s
what I propose, you boys take me out for a decent dinner, and I’ll take
you to a fabulous party one of my girlfriends is throwing tonight. Trust
me, we’ll have a blast.”
The boys nodded in agreement, “Sounds good!”
Trent flagged down a waitress and handed her a fistful of crumpled 20
dollar bills. Sara took each boy by the hand and steered their way through
the crowd, out the front door, and into a taxi cab.
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