It's the stupidest things. It's the things you don't notice that trip you up. Those are the things that take you down like untied shoelaces, leaving you face first in the dirt spitting clotting pride.
I was shopping. I needed supplies. I needed sundries. My gophers needed beer. They were throwing kegger. It was a hot weekend; their fur gets all matted and they're cranky without liquid refreshment. I hate to give into the scruffy ruffians, but they'd already knocked over a fire hydrant, and were turning guerrilla on neighbor kids with juice boxes. This was no time for heroics.
"Please, I give you what you want, just step away from the little girl."
So Wussy Robby made a stop at Bevmo to grab their favorite apricot beer. After an hour in the heat of hunting/gathering, I was getting cranky. As MyUnwife would attest, this usually means I need food.
I filled the trunk with Bevmo bags, and staggered over to the Red Robin in the same parking lot. RR is a memory safe eatery. MyUnwife and I only ate there a few times, and never at this one. This RR belongs to me alone--or it will as soon as I sit and swallow my first memory.
MMM, I open the door and the greasy waft of freedom fries smacks my face. That's followed by a frosty AC blast . This is going to be a good lunch.
"how many in your party?"
"I'm a party of one today." I smile.
"Very well, sir. Follow me," says Hostess Girl, in ruby cape.
I obey. She leads me around a labyrinth of munching families and red scuttling drink-tray creatures to a booth built for me. Oh there's a seat across from me, but nobody could fit there even if I brought them. If they did fit, nobody would eat. It would just be a tangle of food arms interlocked and banging in frustration. They might as well paint Twister dots on the table because more than one person can't eat here; trying would just be fun and games. As it stands, it's just me sitting. I'll eat just fine.
I check both sides of the laminated menu card, then settle for the fish and chips before the waiter even introduces himself.
"Hi, I'm--"
"Fish and Chips, please."
"Uhm, ok. I'm Don."
"Can I have a tea too, Don?"
Don's fumbling with his pad. He must be new. A trained professional would already be walking to the kitchen. "What was your drink order again sir?"
Yeah, Don's not a professional. "tea, please."
"And to eat?"
Ok, maybe he is, he's just OCD. We can usually smell our own, but sometimes kitchen smells can block them. I sniff his shirt.
"Excuse me sir? You're food order?"
I can't tell. I decide to test.
"Where's your bathroom?"
"What would you like to eat?"
"Bathroom?"
"Eat?"
"Pee?"
"Eat?"
"¿cuán grande es su mono?"
"Eat?"
I nod. OCD. I place my order. He points to the restroom, then pulls out his monkey. It's a friendly little thing: a cute spider monkey--small but tasteful.
The problem hits while I'm sitting in my booth on my end-oh,, sippin' on tea and ice, laid back, I've got my mind on my menu, got my menu on my mind…. Red Robin is piping in the hits from my past. I just heard Wang Chung have fun tonight, and now Ace of Base is fading out. They saw the sign.
There's a moment of silence before the next song begins. I like this moment because I like to guess the next song. It's part of my day job. I'm like a music cowboy and I'm the fastest gun in these here parts. Ask MyUnwife, she'll agree, and no matter what else she says, she's ONLY talking about music.
I recognized this one. A long soft orchestrated tone. Primarily strings building into something heavy. I know it. I rock my head back and sigh before the piano kicks in and Steven Tyler begins to sing.
"I could stay awake…"
Summer, 1998 Aerosmith, "I don't want to miss a thing." I hate this song. Not really because of MyUnwife. I hate it because it's a sappy sonic Hallmark card. It was written to be a sentimental hit. It worked for millions of sheep, but I'm not bleating along. Don't get me wrong, I like love songs, but I need to believe them. I need to believe there was some sincerity somewhere in the writing process.
Duncan Sheik, he was barely breathing. Yeah, that was unrequited, but he was thinking it over anyway, and I believed him. I didn't believe Steven. The last time I believed him, he was singing about sweet emotion. Now, he's singing somebody else's hit to get paid, and he doesn't want to miss a thing.
Still that's not the worst of it. The worst part of this song is mixed with the unnaturally cold AC, it reminds me of a stint I pulled as a music board operator for a radio station in Palm Desert. They keep radio studios cold too. Not for the employees, but for the equipment. It's extremely expensive to replace an overheated sound board. Dragging a dehydrated board op to the sidewalk by his Nikes and replacing him with a college kid is cheap. It's the music of money, not the people. That's why they keep it cold.
I was playing somebody's top 20 lite-hits on Sunday mornings. All I needed to do was answer phones, drop in commercials, and be quiet. Piece of cake. During my time there, the Aerosmith track was one of the hits.
The song and the cold air reminded me of MyUnwife. It was early in our relationship. This was our song. We both hated it. When it came on, we'd cringe and dive to see who could change the radio station first. It was cute. Sitting in Red Robin, I remembered that. I wasn't ready. I lost my appetite for a moment.
At least I lost it until I remembered that I had a choice. I had a choice to liquor up my gophers. I had a choice to eat here. I had a choice to make on the menu. I had a choice to touch Don's monkey. Now, I have a choice to be sad. See, I can relive the memory and drink my tea with saccharine self-pity, or I can hate this song on my own now. It's a bad song, it's easy to dislike. Why give my weekend to MyUnwife?
I look around me and take it the sights. I take the song away from MyUnwife, and I give it to Red Robin. Here comes Don, he can have it.
Don drops my plate on the table, and only then offers to refill my empty glass, because that's how things are done in these here parts. His OCD is affecting his tip-o-meters. That's a shame. Still the food is good, and I'm enjoying my meal, and my music by myself, and I'll make that memory last quite a while.
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