Thursday, April 22, 2010

Greg from Work

My wife and I were drinking at the Lava Lounge. Not a lot of conversation going on. I was absentmindedly admiring the bartender, Katie. She’s a late 20s white girl with long dreadlocks, in punk attire, and a ring through her septum. No tattoos on her arms, but she’s got tons on her legs. She always looks really good. She’s the only girl I’ve ever seen who has the ability to make “crust punk” look sexy. She knows us and what we drink, and she has really good taste in music. She generally just lets us back behind the bar to pick out what we want to listen to. We see her there a lot. She’s great. We were actually just about done there, and ready to head down to the Moose, when this big guy appeared beside me. He threw a bag on the bar and looked up at the TV. There was a baseball game playing. He ordered a drink, looked over at me, and asked me about the score. I had no idea, as I wasn’t paying attention, but as I looked up at him, we both froze in an alien sort of recognition. It was Greg from work. He used to be a contract coder where I work. We had worked together for about three months. Good guy, but we just hadn’t had enough work to justify renewing his contract. Not that I’m part of any of the decision-making process anyway. I felt bad about that, and wondered if he harbored any ill sentiments. It didn’t seem that way. I didn’t say anything about it, and instead introduced him to my wife. We smiled, laughed, shook hands, and made idle conversation about nothing. Minutes later we shook hands again, and my wife and I departed for the Moose. He kept watching the game.

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