The morning
routine: Alarm woke him up but it went off two more times by hitting the snooze
button before he actually got out of bed. His feet hit the floor and he
stretched and yawned. He shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the light,
blinding him.
He
jumped in the shower and washed himself letting the cold water slowly wake up
his cinnamon skin. He stepped out, puts on his robe and brushed his teeth.
Watched the news while he dressed; boxers, jeans, a shirt that has no apparent
stains and didn’t smell bad, socks and shoes. He brushed out his half-inch long
hair and matching black beard.
Whether
you’re a lawyer, doctor, serial killer, bus driver or a produce salesman, you
have a morning routine, and it was the axiom of Marcus' existence to get up early
and cook breakfast for Portland State University’s future America which paid shit. Sometimes it paid the rent, sometimes it didn’t. He curbed his lack
of income playing poker, usually winning a few hundred a week, but not always,
and some weeks he found himself in the red. It
wasn’t always like this but the recession landed plenty of people in positions
they didn’t expect even a few months prior.
Marcus
made his way out on the street while pulling on a maroon hooded sweatshirt. It
wasn't raining but it looked like it should be. Overcast whether made up a
majority off Portland's days and it never hurt to keep an umbrella handy. These
kind of days caused instant un-exuberance and gloom in most people’s and he was
no exception, this just happened to add to the fact that he received a text
stating that the opening bar tender called out sick meaning he had to open and
work both the kitchen and the bar, which was no biggie since things stayed
pretty slow till mid-morning when the manager come in, but it meant he had to
deal with people and not just their food.
There
really was no danger in getting wet when it rained. It's more about the
discomfort of raindrops falling on one's body and clothes. It’s why he kept
coarse hair short. Somehow, the webbed footed people that lived in the city of
roses made due.
After 8
blocks, he approached the back door of the Cheerful Tortuous and opened it
while mumbling "time to make the fucking donuts."
The
morning progressed as he expected, folks slowly rolled in, an with each interaction,
Marcus' bleak opinion of the human race was renewed. It was one thing to get a
ticket with a special order on it for an egg-white gluten-free bird
in the nest, but to hear it from some "International Studies
250 Terrorism and Art: The Spectacle of Destruction" sophomore was
enough to want to smack them back to a fresh-faced scared as
shit, ramen noodle eating freshmen.
Did
they have gluten-free bread? Of course they did! But only because
it catered to folks who asked for it. This was a college bar, not
a hipster bistro. They served Pabst, not because it was in a tallboy
and was preferred by dirty cyclist with flipped up brimmed, but
because it was cheap as shit and local used bookstores and corner coffee shops
only paid so much for part-time work.
This is
why Marcus preferred the kitchen, no customer interaction, and if one
more person ordered a bagel with dairy-free cream cheese, he would
turn into the brunch Nazi and tell them they had to leave. He
chuckled at the thought of a black man dress in an SS uniform telling people to
leave because of their ridiculous culinary request.
Waffles,
pancakes, biscuits and gravy, toast, OJ, hash browns and coffee, so much
coffee. Knowledge required brains and brains required sustenance and he was the
conduit. For better or worse he was fueling the future one plate at a time.
The
manager rolled in, pissed that the opening tender called out, but offered much
needed relief taking at least the table service off Marcus’ hands leaving him
the kitchen and the counter, he wiped down the spot in the middle of the bar
when some young buck just sat down and gave him the universal sign for “ID
please”. Kid looked to be in his mid-twenties, but the OLCC was sneaky. Sure
enough, it stated DOB: 3/18/85. Name: Donald…
He
winced when he read the rest “this your real last name dude?”
“Why
change it, right?” the guy responded. Marcus smirked, shook his head and handed the ID
back.
“Here’s
the menu, you want something to drink Donald?” he asked.
“Just
Don. I’ll have a red beer and a short stack,” he said. Red beer was nasty:
pilsner with tomato juice. But it was an acceptable breakfast drink.
As
Marcus poured and flipped the requested pancakes, he caught this Don character,
fawning over what appeared to be an envelope while he drank his poor-mans
version of a bloody marry. Marcus didn’t see to many euphoric faces before noon
in that joint and this cat looked like he just found a golden ticket.
He
started getting irritated with the kids' attitude, which deep down was
probably just jealousy, what’s this jack-ass got to be so happy about? Must be
good news, maybe a letter from a loved one, maybe a girl, this didn’t help the situation as Marcus was having issues in that department as of late.
He
brought the plate of grub out and placed it in front of Don “what you got
there, good news?”
“I hope
so,” Don responded and pulled out a transportation ticket and not a letter “I
won’t know till I find what I’m looking for,” Marcus made out that the ticket
had AMTRAK printed on the top.
“You
looking for a train?” Marcus asked as he grabbed from under the bar a set of
silver wear and napkins.
“You
could say that,” Don took a long drink of his red beer as he placed the ticket
on the bar for Marcus’ inspection. ARRIVING AT UNION STATION SEATTLE, WA.
“You go
biz in the Emerald City?”
“More
like biz on the way to the Emerald City. There’s this girl, right?” Here it is
Marcus though “She’s heading up that way and I need to find her,”
“You
can’t call or text her when she gets up there?” Marcus asked disinterestedly.
Don took in a fork full of pancakes and gave a muffled response.
“Can’t,”
he chewed a bit and continued with less of a muffle “don’t have a number.”
“E-mail,
social media?”
Don
finally swallowed “nope, just met her last night.” That piqued Marcus’ interest
with raised eyebrows.f
“You’re
going on a trip with a girl you met last night and you forgot to get her
number? Is that some kinky online chat thing? She have a screen name like
KittyVixen325? She friends with Chris Hansen or you guys where masks when you
first met?” He couldn’t help but chuckle.
Don
smiled but shook his head “nah man,” he proceeded to tell his tale of the night
before between bites of food and Marcus serving others as more arrived at the
bar: there was a parking lot, a ride, some pizza and a rejection.
“So
this chick blew you off and now you’re stalking her on a train?” Marcus asked.
“Not
stalking, woo.. wooing her? That’s a thing, right? I mean she’s going up there
to see sick family. She probably, you know, needs a friend. I can be that guy.”
Marcus raised a judging eyebrow.
“That
sounds sketchy as shit, man. You might want to rethink your plan. What if she’s
not down with you tagging along? That’s a long bitter trip up there for nothing
if she blows you off again,” he put a lot of emphasis on the last
word. But Don, the simple optimist wasn’t going to be swayed. He already bought
the ticket so why not go all in on with his little plan.
“I’m
catching that train Bob,” Don said reading the name on Marcus’ name tag.
“Names
Marcus, we all wear fake names here,” he took a light sigh and cleared Don’s
plate and glass “you know you’re supposed to listen to the advice of your bar
tender,” though he wasn’t actually a bar tender, he was trying to give the guy
a sound recommendation to an obvious situation.
Fools
rush in and this guy was on full tilt. But what the fuck did he care, no need
to rain on this man’s parade “man, I’m full of shit, do what you want. Find
that girl and have your own romantic comedy, and it is a comedy, by the way.
He
placed two pint glasses on the bar. Inside he placed a cracked egg, a chasers
worth of pils and a shot of tomato juice. Don eyed it awkwardly. "One
for the road on me,"
"Liquid
omelet?"
"Something
like that," Don stood up from the bar and clutched the glass. In a
mirrored gesture, they raised their glasses in salute. "To falling in love
with mysterious women," and he knocked back his concoction.
After a
second of thought, Don did the same declaring "to nurse Mandy," he
cleared the glass and slammed it down smiling while pointing approvingly at
Marcus. With that he swiftly exited the bar, bag slung on his shoulder.
A look
of shock struck Marcus' face "the fuck you just say?!?" But the
headstrong vagabond had already departed. Of all the love-struck lonely hearts,
of all the fish in the fucking sea and chance meetings, did he really say nurse
MANDY? As in 'Amanda Callahan RN currently driving around in his shitty car'
Mandy? Marcus jumped over the bar, ran out the door and looked up and down
the adjacent streets, but Don was nowhere to be seen.
"Damn,"
he said under his breath. Did he just send that dude off to pursue his woman?
Looks like the Tourists would also be down a cook that day as well.
Suggested listening: If you Only Knew by Jurrasic 5
Idiot by Atmosphere
