“They didn’t give me a black hat either,” I say.
“You’ve only been here four months.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been working for this company for four years. I should get a black hat. Instead I’m walking around with this dirty blue one. I have the mind to just walk out of here. Then they would know how important I am to this business.”
“Those bastards,” I say earnestly.
“Yeah, those bastards. Why won’t they give me a black hat? I show up to work on time. I put in my hours. I work hard here and they won’t give me a black hat. Even fucking Larry got a black hat, and he’s a crackhead.”
“Larry’s been here for five years.”
“That don’t mean shit. He’s still a crackhead.”
“My cigarette is done. Gotta go.”
I’m back at the dish-tank.
The dishes keep coming.
The host, Jeremy, comes up to me.
Jeremy is seventeen and still in high school.
He just spent two days in a juvenile detention center for breaking his stepdad’s jaw.
“Jeremy, how was the pen?” I say.
“It was boring. I feel really bad.”
“For what? I thought you said he was an asshole.”
“He is, but I’m totally not like violent.”
“Who cares? Violence is awesome.”
“No man, I feel bad. I don’t feel good about it.”
“No, it’s cool. Beating up your parents is awesome!”
“Dude, but like.”
“No, don’t worry. Life is awesome. ‘Beat your parents,’ that’s what I always say.”
Jeremy realizes he’s getting fucked-up advice that totally contradicts everything everybody has been telling him for the past week, so he leaves.
I’m walking around.
Gina comes up from behind me and says, “I like your belt.”
“Thanks.”
“And I can see your underwear,” she says, giggling.
I go over to the dish-tank and pull my pants up.
I wonder if that means she likes me.
She likes looking at my underwear.
Why didn’t I think of something witty to say like, ‘Oh yeah, wanna see the rest of them?’
Or, ‘You wanna see what’s underneath?’
Or, ‘You like looking at my ass?’
But no.
I say nothing.
I get nervous and go over to the dish-tank and pull my pants up.
I’m such an ass.
Why can’t I do anything right when it comes to girls?
Especially Gina.
I should blow my brains out.
I’m standing at the dish-tank.
Beth comes over and says, “You going out tonight?”
“No, I don’t drink on Saturdays.”
“What the hell does that mean, ‘I don’t drink on Saturdays.’ Everybody drinks on Saturdays.”
“That’s exactly why. The bar will be full of assholes yelling stupid shit at each other. I start to hyperventilate around a lot of people.”
“You are so fucking weird. What about tomorrow night? Sunday is quiz night.”
“Yeah, tomorrow sounds fine. The bar will be what, half-full. I can handle half-full. I can’t handle full.”
“Yes Vasily, the bar will only be half-full.”
Beth runs away then.
Everybody always invites me to go out. I don’t know why. I think they feel sorry for me.
They probably feel sorry for me because I stand here looking morbid all day while washing dishes. But I really don’t know how I’m supposed to get into the spirit of washing dishes, like it wouldn’t make sense if the dishwasher was giggling and smiling and loving life all day.
Dishwashing sucks.
I’m not a happy dishwasher.
I’m not even a happy person.
On my days off I’m usually completely miserable.
I wonder if Gina is going tomorrow.
I wash dishes, waiting for Gina to drop off some plates.
Gina always asks me to go to the bar, not with her specifically, but she does say things like, “Hey Vasily, you should come out tonight.”
But Gina has a boyfriend and I’m always afraid he’ll be there, so I never go.
Gina drops off some plates.
I yell, “Hey Gina!”
Gina says, “Hey Vasily!”
“Gina, are you going to the bar tomorrow?”
“Yeah, why? Are you finally going to go out with us?”
“Yeah, I think I might.”
A smile comes over her face.
A smile.
Gina has such a pretty smile.
She smiled because of me.
I’m such an ass.
Gina says, “Yeah, and my boyfriend isn’t coming. He wants me to act reserved, but I want to have fun tomorrow night.”
“That sounds great.”
Gina goes back to work.
It is the end of the night.
I walk out into the dining room to bring glasses to the bar.
The female servers are all standing around in a circle.
One server is talking about how her mom doesn’t like her boyfriend.
One server is talking about how her boyfriend is going to school to become an electrician.
One server is having a text message war with her boyfriend.
One server is complaining about her boyfriend in bed.
One server is talking about how great the movie
Wild Hogs
is.
I’m sitting outside smoking a cigarette.
It is dark now.
The moon shines a nice light over the mall parking lot.
A seventeen-year-old hostess named Christa is standing near me.
She is obviously anorexic.
She is five-four and weighs eighty-seven pounds.
Without looking at her, I say, “You need to gain weight.”
“What?”
“You need to gain weight. Peak oil is coming.”
“What the fuck is peak oil?”
“It would take too long to explain. But you need body fat to survive it.”
“Isn’t oil like something that comes from the ground?”
“Yes, that is correct,” I say.
“How does it peak?”
“Listen, it would take too long to explain. All you need to know is that your anorexia is bullshit. You need to gain weight and get fatter. Your head is huge.”
She looks at me like I’m an ass, then she leaves.
The night is finally over.
It was a horrible night.
I should have killed myself during it.
But I’m a coward.
I get into my 1990 Jetta.
I sit down and start the car and reach over to turn on the radio.
My hand finds empty space.
I look to where the radio should be.
Nothing is there but a bunch of dangling wires.
I consider punching the steering wheel.
But I don’t.
The car has no heat, two of the doors won’t open, it burns oil, the horn doesn’t work, and now it has no radio.
I consider getting angry but I just finished work and I don’t have the energy to dwell on a stupid stereo.
I drive home in silence.
I open the window and let the sound of crickets and frogs flood the car.
The crickets and frogs sound better than most songs anyway.
10
Chang and I are sitting at the Lampost Lounge.
The Lampost Lounge is the strip joint down the street from where we live.