Chaper #3.1 Morning routine.

                  

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

Chapter #1.4: He wouldn't kick her out of bed.

                     
Over slices of pie, Don talked about the minor stresses of working the back room of a drug store and Amanda complained about the stresses of geriatric patients. It was clear by her venting about technical medical subjects that she spent a few years in school and most of the things she said went over his head.

In the restaurant light, he was able to see Mandy clearer. She didn't look like a Mandy, but he didn't care because she looked good none the less. She wasn't magazine “hot” or anything like that, but he most defiantly wouldn't kick her out of a bed. She was a little shorter than he who stood at 5’7 with shoulder-length dark brown hair. He decided that she was… pretty, but still rough around the edges.

He thought she was fit by the way she carried herself; possibly from walking throughout a large hospital all day, but it was hard to tell under her baggy clothes. Baggy like a skater, or a snowboarder. Maybe she liked hitting the mountain, he thought. Maybe both of them could head up sometime. Maybe he could get her out of those baggy clothes afterward. And maybe he should stop daydreaming about a girl he just met and finish his slice.

He also notices a small scar on the tip of her nose that looked old but permanent, though he refrained from asking about despite the fact that she made no effort to hide it. All and all, he wasn’t sure if she was really his type, not like Don had a type, but he decided to play this one cool, not come on too strong and see where it led. 

He asked her questions about herself. Normal bullshit stuff he knew girls liked, but most of her answers fell short of his expectations: she didn’t have time for T.V. or movies and preferred books he’s never heard of. She listened to music he wasn’t interested in. She wouldn’t touch politics and refrained from religion. It’s like he was shooting in the dark to get to know this girl.

She abruptly opened up when he circled back around about her work and led Mandy to the fact that she was taking time off to deal with some issues “so what is it like, family problems?” Everyone had family problems. Take Don for example; he had an uncle that worked in the adult industry that was killed by a crazed fan of a co-star he used to bang in movies earlier that year. You can’t even make that shit up! No one could possibly know what it’s like to be the nephew of Tony Cannon. It even made news in L.A. No reason for people in P-town to give a shit about a dead porn star though, so he kept that gem to himself.

Amanda kind of glared at him and nodded “yeah, family problems.” She took a bite of pizza and then a weird expression came across her face “Don, have you ever heard of a misanthropic rhizome?”

“No sounds alien though,” and what if it was. Or better yet, what if it was some kind of biological weapon. He saw this shit on the Discovery Channel about biological warfare and these gasses they have that can melt your flesh. 

“It’s a parasite that infects your nasal septum. It causes you to bleed profusely through your nose and prevents the blood from clotting, kind of like hemophilia. It basically can cause you to bleed to death from a bloody nose without the nasal septum even being agitated,” she took a deep breath and let it out “my grandfather had a nose bleed a few nights ago and went to the hospital by his home in Seattle. It turns out he has this condition and may not have long to live."

Don decided it must be something rare and he didn't follow everything she was saying, but being a nurse and all, she must have known what she was talking about “man! Whoa! That’s crazy, right? So… like what are they going… or how are they…?”

“Treating him? Well, it’s a rare case, so the only thing they can do is release him back home and tell him to keep his nose plugged with something super absorbent. That’s why I came to your store tonight Don: to get some tampons for my grandfather’s nose.”

All Don could do was stare wide-eyed at Mandy with his mouth open which he quickly closed once he realized he was in mid-chew “so, do you think he’ll be ok?”

“I don’t know, only time will tell,” Amanda said and finished her slice “well Don, thanks for the grub, it really hit the spot, but I have to get going. I've got chores to finish up before my trip and I still have to pack.”

"Oh, ok, yeah I guess you have a lot to get done, but Seattle; should be a short flight right?"

"Probably, except I'm taking am Amtrak," Mandy stood up and grabbed her jacket "it was nice meeting you Don, take care," she gave him a smile that shook his core. It was like being smiled at for the first time. It made his heartache. Then she turned and headed to the door.

Don decided he couldn't let it end there. He met a lot of ladies but this one was different. He felt that this one was his destiny. Granted he's told several women that they’re his destiny, but rarely felt it. Plus, he figured that even though they just met, there was something more going on behind those eyes and he had to figure out what it was "hey nurse Mandy... uh, so can I get your number and give you a call when you're back from your trip?"

She smiled again but shot him down "I don't think so Don. I've got too much going on to involve someone else in my crazy life right now, sorry. You were sweet to take me out to dinner though. Maybe I'll see you at the store sometime."

"Wow, it usually takes a lady like... two weeks to tell me that," he meant it as a joke but she didn't laugh “but I understand, with your grandfather and his… nose. Have a safe I guess,” he went in for a hug but she withdrew and extended her right hand which he shook with his own.

“Thanks Don. Get home safe,” Mandy walked outside, got in her car, and drove away. Don sat back down and had another slice of pizza and wondered if he would ever see her again. Those eyes, that smile. He pulled out his phone and looked up Amtrak departure times for the following day and some author Mandy mentioned named Douglas Coupland.

Suggested listening: "Beautiful" by Aerosmith
                                      "Pull It" by Asher Roth

             
                   

Chaper #1.2: Employee of the month

Rain was a predictable forecast in the City of Roses, especially in October. Inches a day it fell, like Zeus himself was pissed. Portland was a smaller city. It had skyscrapers, an international airport and a mass transit system, but you could drive through it in less than 30 minutes depending on traffic. It was often thought of as a city in the forest; the home of the great northwest. To Amanda, it was nothing special, just a place to live and work.

Downtown was a web of alternating one-ways. A quarter of which were always being worked on or closed for some reason or another, but traffic was dying down so her drive to the drug store to pick up some provisions was pretty straight forward.

Standing in line at the checkout stand, Amanda’s eyes darted around for something more entertaining than the crap the person in front of her was buying. Next to her in the checkout stand was a menagerie of impulse items: tabloids, bubblegum, breathe mints, batteries, condoms, small rolled up horoscopes and Pez. Cherry flavored Pez, with a Darth Vader dispenser. The taste of Pez had become foreign to Amanda since her childhood. She grabbed it and tossed in on the conveyor belt with her other items.

Past the checkout counter was the customer service desk and above that was the stores prestigious employee of the month wall. The current winner was a curious young man named Don. He had shaggy shoulder length brown hair that covered his forehead all the way down to his eyebrows. Amanda thought to herself that he either wasn't photogenic or was just having a shitty day. The sign below the picture said that he had been a valued employee for three years. She couldn't imagine working for that long under harsh florescent lights that filled the store with more illumination at 7 P.M. at night than the sun did in the middle of the day. 

Amanda paid for her things and left. On her way back to her car she saw someone sitting on the curb and realized it was drugstore Don himself smoking a cigarette.

"You’re mister employee of the month, right?" 

"What?" Don said back with questioning eye.

"I was... I was just looking at your picture on the wall inside," she replied with a smile.

"Oh yeah," he responded "the one where I look like a tool right?" She wasn't quite sure how to respond. He raised his head and she could see that his photo didn't due him justice. He was a sharp looking guy with a nice smile and a stainless steel lip ring that he probably had to remove for his photo. Her ex had a lip ring, and in the same place too "yeah how proud am I, right? I'm pretty sure I only got it because I've worked there so long without receiving it."

"They give you a watch and a raise?"

"More like a pat on the back and a gift card." He said as he put out his cigarette and reached for another. He tried to light a new one but the lighter would only spark and not ignite. He tried several times but to no avail. "Shit. You have a lighter by chance?"

Amanda had no reason to carry a lighter since she stopped smoking a year back. Lately it was getting harder to fight "no but there's a burner in the dash of my car," she thought about asking for one herself but she bit her tongue. Apparently she still had some will power.

She opened her car, threw in her bag inside, turned the key and hit the burner "it'll just be a sec. So do you like working in a drug store, Don?" He just kind of stared at her first. She was trying to make conversation, and maybe that wasn't his sense of humor. But he smiled and tilted his head downward as he put the cigarette in his mouth.

"It's a job right? Pays the bills, keeps me humble. What about you?"

"My bills get paid too. I don't know if I could stand working here though."

"Yeah? Well, have you ever made employee of the month?" She knew he was trying to be a smart ass and smiled.

The burner popped and she handed it to him "doesn't really work that way at my job." Don lit up "what are you, a dancer or something? Or a bartender? You're a bartender aren't you?"

'What a presumptuous dick' she thought to herself; flattered that he thought she has a body to dance, but still obnoxious to ask. Especially for a girl he just met. She figured she'd let it slide since calling him out about his crappy job "no, I'm a nurse.”

Don took a long draw and let it out slow as he nodded his head "that's cool."

"Yeah," she was now staring at his cigarette with great interest "mind if I take a drag?" Don stared at her with narrow eyes and handed her the cig. She inhaled deep and handed it back.

"A nurse that smokes, that's some irony, right?"

"I don't smoke, I quite a while ago."

"Whatever Nurse..."

"Mandy," she never went by Mandy outside of work. It just worked better over a hospital intercom speaker.

"Well Nurse Mandy. I know we just met but do you think I can bum a ride?" Red flags went off all throughout her head. She started searching for and excuse in her head.

"My car is pretty shitty on the inside and hasn't been cleaned in months."

"I don't care. Anything’s better than the bus. I got these hunger pains that just won't quit and there's this pizza place that's only open for another hour," he started rubbing his belly "their crust has garlic baked in, right?" She was a little irritated at how he was ending his prepositions as a question "come on Nurse Mandy, I'll buy you a slice," he said trying to sweeten the deal and held up his before-mentioned employee of the month earn gift card. She didn't care much for having a meal with a stranger, but he reminded her of the slack-off skaters she knew in high school and decided he wasn't that big of a threat. With great reluctance, she chewed her lip and told herself 'what the hell.'

"Alright, I guess. But don't try anything inappropriate, I spit mace," Don ran over and jumped in the car.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," he said smiling at her.
He faced forward but notice out of the corner of her eye that he was staring at her chest. At least he kept his eyes on hers up to that point. 'Just another guy' she thought to herself and she was off to dinner with Don; the employee of the month that she just met. At least she would get a free meal.

Suggested listening: Minimum Wage by Fenix TX