“Kindergarten Teacher”
Oct 17, 2019Waiting, waiting, always waiting. What is he waiting for? The shoes feel nice. At least the shoes feel nice. The old ones have been hurting his feet. Not a great thing in a city where he walks, walks, always walking. The whiskey is nice, too. He misses it. It was a beer kind of night but he chose whiskey instead. He can’t afford the whiskey but he can’t afford the beer either.
The weather is changing. Summer is over and fall is here for the blink of an eye before winter kicks in. He can feel it in his sinuses, the pressure in his ears and head. His neck is cold underneath the new jacket. The collar is too damn loose. It’s time to get his scarf out of storage. And the big jacket, the real jacket. And maybe the long underwear. Is he really that cold already?
He sits at the bar waiting for his friend. And the drunk kindergarten teacher steps up next to him instead. He’s deep in thought but she wants to chat. She wants to chat about what he’s doing and does he want to do some shots with her girlfriends. He does not want to do any shots. He is waiting for his friend. He is not on their level. He can’t talk to anyone when he’s on a different level. He feels self-conscious. She sees he’s writing on a piece of paper and tells him what lovely cursive he has.
“It’s not cursive,” he says.
“It looks like cursive,” she says.
“It’s just regular print.”
She looks closer. “It looks like cursive!”
“Maybe I’m just lazy and my print is drunk.”
“Maybe you’re drunk.”
“I’m not, but those Fireball shots you just order say you’re drunk.”
The bartender brings the shots she ordered—three Fireballs and one unidentified. She smells it.
“Jameson,” she says.
“Same as me,” he says.
“Wanna help me bring these to my girlfriends?”
“Sure, but then I’m coming back to my seat cos I’m waiting for my friend.”
“I didn’t want to talk to you anymore anyway.”
He helps carry the shots. The ladies look confused. He grabs his whiskey and "salud!"s. They drink. He goes back to the bar to wait, wait, always waiting.