Losing My Glasses

I'm so fucking hung over today. I can barely move. I think if I do move, I'll probably puke. I'm trying to lay here in bed perfectly still. Everything is blurry. Last night I was in a pretty good mood so I went downstairs to bug Leaky Pete and see if he wanted to go bar hopping. We've got three dive bars within a five minute walking distance of B Street so we can get totally hammered and not have to worry one bit about driving home. We simply stumble our way back bouncing off of every parking meter, telephone pole, and tree along the way. It always works out.

At the first bar we hit, no sooner had I bought myself and Pete our opening round of drinks, the guy that Jennifer was fucking walked up to me out of the crowd. He was so gone, so completely stinking drunk that his legs appeared to be barely holding him upright. As soon as he was standing in front of me he started talking. "Jennifer got me fired", he said. I didn't know how to react. He continued. "She forgot to lock up the coffee shop one night after her closing shift. The next morning when the girls came in to open, they discovered the door unlocked and the alarm not set. The district manager opened an investigation. Jennifer said it was my fault and blamed me for everything, but she was the last person there that night". Yeah, that sounded like something she would do. She fucked up, and instead of taking the hit she burned someone, anyone else for her stupidity. I suspected she was just using this guy like a weapon to make things more difficult for me before I moved out of her place. What a whore. Little five foot two skank whore.

After listening to the ex-coffee guy's story I didn't have anything to say. He bungled his way back into the mess of bodies in front of the bartender. I sat down at a table with Leaky Pete and told him what I just heard. He said I should forget it and just pay attention to drinking, but I couldn't get my mind off of it. As the night wore on I became more agitated and angry. I was rapidly slipping towards angry drunkeness.

By the time all the bars were closed, Pete and I were walking erratically in the streets towards the house. As we passed the Donut Slut I spotted a mangy pay phone in front of the place and I had a thought. I should call Jennifer and tell her what a stupid fucking whore-bitch she is. Yeah! That would make me feel much better and since she had a caller ID box if I used the pay phone she wouldn't have my new, unlisted number to call me back and whine about it. That would be coolness for sure. Pete continued onward towards the house. I was pulled towards that filthy pay phone like a moth to a flame. I viciously rummaged around in my pockets for change and slapped a couple dollars worth of quarters onto the top of the phone box which was at my eye level. I began pumping quarters into the fucker like it was a videogame at the arcade and punched Jennifer's number into the keypad. There was no ringy noises. Instead I got some pre-recorded mumbling that I didn't understand.

I hung up and put more quarters into the phone. I dialed again. Still no ringy dingy stuff. More mumbling. Clenching my fists and grinding my teeth I slammed more quarters into the phone. By God, this shit was going to work, I was going to unleash verbal retribution so fierce on Jennifer that she would cry all week or else. It had to be done. I was in such a hurry to call that I screwed up her number and had to start over a couple of times. I made myself more angry in doing so. Then it hit me, like out of the blue. I couldn't see straight. Everything was out of focus and hazy, sort of. I reached towards my eyes to feel the wire frame of my glasses, but they weren't there. I squinted at the top of the phone box and leaned in close. All I saw was dimes, nickels, and the few remaining quarters. No glasses. Puzzled, I looked around on the ground. I thought for sure I had them with me. Where could they be? This was bad. I need my glasses. Well, one problem at a time I thought. I still had to make this call and terrorize Jennifer. Then I'd worry about the missing glasses.

Alcohol is a peculiar thing. Along with affecting motor skills, clouding judgement, making ugly people of the opposite sex appear attractive, it can also affect hearing. Making another attempt to spew poison into Jennifer's answering machine, I finally heard in plain English what the pre-recorded mumbling was saying. "This number does not accept calls from pay phones". Fuck! I raged on the poor phone. It was kicked and punched, cursed, and spat upon. I scooped up my remaining change and stormed back towards B Street.

Pete was awake sitting in his livingroom with his front door open. I asked him if I had left my glasses anywhere about. We both looked around, but they were definetly missing in action. I went upstairs and searched everywhere in my room. Nada. No spectacles. I grabbed a flashlight and scurried out to the back yard and rifled through my car. I came up empty handed. Frustrated, I walked down the driveway back to Pete's and sat down in one of his easy chairs. Pete looked at me and said, "Couldn't find 'em huh?" I shook my head and said "Nope". Pete laughed and bellowed at me, "Right now there's probably some bum following the railroad tracks and he's got a nice pair of gold wire rimmed glasses on his face"! He laughed at me some more, the bastard.