We Don’t Have 50 Cents?
After work on Thursday, I slept all day – which was normal, since I worked until 4 a.m. Larry came home from work and I was eating my sautéed mushrooms and drinking Diet Coke. Other than some mustard and a carton of cigarettes in the freezer, though, our fridge was now empty.
“There’s no beer,” I said to Larry. “Let’s just go to Paul’s.”
Larry laughed. “We can’t go to Paul’s,” he said. “Not until I get paid.”
“Whattaya mean we can’t go to Paul’s? We always go to Paul’s!”
“Not tonight we don’t,” Larry said. “We got no fuckin’ money.”
“It’s 50 cents!” I said, starting to shriek a little. “We don’t have 50 cents?” I hadn’t considered that one draft would never be sufficient, and I wasn’t planning to share my one beer with Larry.
“We got nothin’ until tomorrow, when I get fuckin’ paid.”
“What about my fuckin’ money?” I asked. I cashed my checks and gave the money to him for rent.
“Your money’s spent, too,” he said.
This had never happened before. In the course of my lifetime, I’d never had no money for beer. And since beer was all that mattered in the world, I was at an impasse. I hadn’t gone a day without beer in a very long time.
“We have to have 50 fuckin’ cents,” I said.
Larry pulled the change from his pocket. “We have 28 cents,” he said. He threw the money on the table and sat on the couch. “You can have it.”
This was getting serious. “What about your credit card?” I begged. Larry carried a completely unused credit card in his wallet in case of emergencies. “I think this is an emergency.”
“We’re not using the fuckin’ credit card,” he said, laughing. He thought I was kidding.
I took another swig of Diet Coke from the two-liter bottle I was holding. “Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I’m going out without you. Somebody’ll buy me a beer.”
“You can’t fuckin’ wait until tomorrow?”
I was already putting on my boots. “No, I can’t fuckin’ wait until tomorrow.”
Larry turned on the TV and put his feet on the table. “Okay,” he said. “You better not fuck any of the fuckin’ guys who buy you beer.”
I didn’t answer that. I headed out the door for The Sharwood, within walking distance. The bar was dark and not terribly crowded, since it was a Thursday night. I walked in and sat down at the bar.
“What can I get for ya?” the bartender asked.
I realized quite suddenly that I should have come with Larry’s 28 cents. Maybe the bartender would have gotten me half a draft beer.
“I want a draft,” I laughed. “But I don’t have any money.”
“First one’s on me, then,” the bartender said.
“Thank you!” I said, genuinely grateful. I waited for the foam to die, then sipped slowly – but there was no need. Before I’d even finished my beer, some guy had refilled his pitcher and poured some into my glass. Someone else had ordered another one for me before I’d finished my second one. In less than an hour, I had a guy sitting to my left, another guy to the right, and I was playing pool with a few others.
I stayed for hours and got quite plastered with no money at all.
Best of all, I didn’t have to pay with my body. When the bar closed, I stumbled home alone.
I passed out in my clothes next to Larry, who was sound asleep.