Barhopping
This entry was posted on 1/30/2007 5:51 AM and is filed under Narrative Prose.
"LAAAAME!" Jacob's cry echoed over the parking lot. "This doesn't happen in midtown! What a loser!" The bouncer crossed his arms, impassive. He got this a lot.
It had started that morning. The coffee pot had broken, prompting a small-scale emergency in Jacob's routine. The equation was simple, caffeine=productivity. Therefore, by some very simple logic, if he didn't have caffeine, he would fail in his day. Knowing also what a stickler his boss, Roy, had been of late, he had rushed out the door to make it to Starbucks. In his haste, his wallet lay, forgotten and alone, on the laminate countertop. Turns out, Starbucks required money, too. He had to drink break-room coffee when he got in.
Work had been busy. The contractor that did most of their sheet metal work had a major snafu, and it was Jacob's responsibility to get with the customers whose orders were already two weeks late. Even the soothing Irish voice of Bono playing on his iPod during his lunch workout hadn't helped. He was on edge.
In the afternoon, Roy had asked him to complete three day's worth of revenue analysis by six p.m. Jacob was a little fried. At 5:30, he had gotten about a day's worth of the work done when Roy stopped by his cube and asked to see the report. Jacob shrugged and politely informed Roy that he would have it later in the week. Roy was "very disappointed".
At 6:15, Jacob cast off from the office, into his evening. The calming neon of his favorite sushi bar calmed his nerves. They knew him well here, and he had a weekly tab, always a comfort. His brother arrived, and they began their evening; he liked his brother. The tuna, whitefish and a sake bomber helped even more, and, pretty soon, he was in fine form.
At 9:30, they decided to go hit on some college girls, and headed down to the U-district. They ran into a gaggle of giggly girls at 10:00, and walked with them for a few minutes, before someone suggested hitting up the pub on the main drag. Jacob was deeply engaged in charming a cute brunette coed as they approached the door.
"Gotcher ID, pal?" The bouncer asked, bored.
