SnikPlosskin
04-19-2012, 10:11am
Cuddle up boys and girls, it's time to tango through Thrakk's neurons to revisit another special (and long winded) moment in time. There will be no Cliff notes for one must be intrepid to master the experience of story time. And the ability to read wont hurt either.
Jeanne in the Bottle
There is an image of a woman that has been burned into my mind, persisting for over 25 years. But before I get to that, allow me to set the scene.
As with many visual memories, this one is accompanied by translucent recollections from other senses. I can feel the crisp, sub zero temperature of early December in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My muscles recall the fatigue that came from long work hours. I can still smell the fragrance of those early morning hours, long before sunrise but well after the rest of the city had retired for the evening.
Jeanne and I were servers. We worked together at a restaurant called Melanics Wheel House, a freakish place right out of a David Lynch movie. It was a dive that somehow managed to sell quite expensive meals to a long list of regular patrons. It also had a bar. The ceiling of the bar was wrapped in tin foil for some reason and we referred to the bar as The Baked Potato. That's were all the trouble began.
Baked at the Potato
The place was packed most nights and many of us pulled double shifts. We served people both upstairs and on the main floor - lugging trays of food up and down two flights. Every night, as exhaustion set in, the employees would gather at the bar. Drinks were always on the house for us and we didn't let that opportunity pass. In the parlance of the day, we got drunker than shit every night.
Most times, Jeanne would tend bar. When I first saw her, I noticed an uncanny resemblance to a young Jamie Curtis, more petite but striking. Very smart, razor wit, very mouthy. Right from the start, we hated each other.
A New Sport is Born
Over time we found common ground. We both enjoyed drinking to the point of blacking out and F$cking. It didn't take long before we combined our common ground into a new sport, "frinking". We weren't "dating" although neither of us were seeing anyone else. Our relationship transcended mere dating. We were on a mission from hell. And once we closed down hell, we hit the bars.
We drank on the job. We frinked in her car on our breaks. We drank after the job. We frinked upstairs at the restaurant. We frinked at her place with her male roommate upstairs (who had feelings for her). We rented hotels. We elevated frinking to a world class olympian endeavor.
So, it wasn't that unusual for me to wrap up a double shift at the restaurant, drive across town at 2:30am in sub zero weather to meet at Jeanne's place. She worked the day shift but stayed up getting a head start on the drinking part of the sport.
A Perfect Moment
It was snowing gently and the round window of the door had frosted up. Around the window was a set of those large, old fashioned Christmas lights. The multicolored light refracted on the frost. I quietly knocked on the door.
Jeanne appeared on the other side of the door wearing Christmas red long johns clinging to her lean, strong body. As I peered through that frosty window, the image of her burned into my brain. It was a perfect moment. The warm light from her apartment contrasting with the freezing cold night. Her perfectly shaped breasts stretching the cotton as her nipples pushed against the weave. The wine glass in her hand and her signature come on of a smirk. The Christmas lights added colored highlights to her blonde hair.
Like Fire and Gasoline
While the image persists to this day, we knew our time together was temporary. I think we had a kind of love for each other, and certainly a deep friendship. But we knew if we stayed together, one or both of us was going to end up dead.
She married some alcoholic loser and moved west. I sobered up and went to school. I haven't drank since. I wish I knew what became of her. I'm guessing toothless hag, smelling of vomit. But apparently I was able to keep enough brain cells to preserve that perfect moment when we were both young, she was still hot and we were ready for anything. Merry Christmas, indeed.
Thrakk out
Jeanne in the Bottle
There is an image of a woman that has been burned into my mind, persisting for over 25 years. But before I get to that, allow me to set the scene.
As with many visual memories, this one is accompanied by translucent recollections from other senses. I can feel the crisp, sub zero temperature of early December in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My muscles recall the fatigue that came from long work hours. I can still smell the fragrance of those early morning hours, long before sunrise but well after the rest of the city had retired for the evening.
Jeanne and I were servers. We worked together at a restaurant called Melanics Wheel House, a freakish place right out of a David Lynch movie. It was a dive that somehow managed to sell quite expensive meals to a long list of regular patrons. It also had a bar. The ceiling of the bar was wrapped in tin foil for some reason and we referred to the bar as The Baked Potato. That's were all the trouble began.
Baked at the Potato
The place was packed most nights and many of us pulled double shifts. We served people both upstairs and on the main floor - lugging trays of food up and down two flights. Every night, as exhaustion set in, the employees would gather at the bar. Drinks were always on the house for us and we didn't let that opportunity pass. In the parlance of the day, we got drunker than shit every night.
Most times, Jeanne would tend bar. When I first saw her, I noticed an uncanny resemblance to a young Jamie Curtis, more petite but striking. Very smart, razor wit, very mouthy. Right from the start, we hated each other.
A New Sport is Born
Over time we found common ground. We both enjoyed drinking to the point of blacking out and F$cking. It didn't take long before we combined our common ground into a new sport, "frinking". We weren't "dating" although neither of us were seeing anyone else. Our relationship transcended mere dating. We were on a mission from hell. And once we closed down hell, we hit the bars.
We drank on the job. We frinked in her car on our breaks. We drank after the job. We frinked upstairs at the restaurant. We frinked at her place with her male roommate upstairs (who had feelings for her). We rented hotels. We elevated frinking to a world class olympian endeavor.
So, it wasn't that unusual for me to wrap up a double shift at the restaurant, drive across town at 2:30am in sub zero weather to meet at Jeanne's place. She worked the day shift but stayed up getting a head start on the drinking part of the sport.
A Perfect Moment
It was snowing gently and the round window of the door had frosted up. Around the window was a set of those large, old fashioned Christmas lights. The multicolored light refracted on the frost. I quietly knocked on the door.
Jeanne appeared on the other side of the door wearing Christmas red long johns clinging to her lean, strong body. As I peered through that frosty window, the image of her burned into my brain. It was a perfect moment. The warm light from her apartment contrasting with the freezing cold night. Her perfectly shaped breasts stretching the cotton as her nipples pushed against the weave. The wine glass in her hand and her signature come on of a smirk. The Christmas lights added colored highlights to her blonde hair.
Like Fire and Gasoline
While the image persists to this day, we knew our time together was temporary. I think we had a kind of love for each other, and certainly a deep friendship. But we knew if we stayed together, one or both of us was going to end up dead.
She married some alcoholic loser and moved west. I sobered up and went to school. I haven't drank since. I wish I knew what became of her. I'm guessing toothless hag, smelling of vomit. But apparently I was able to keep enough brain cells to preserve that perfect moment when we were both young, she was still hot and we were ready for anything. Merry Christmas, indeed.
Thrakk out