spectating participant

December 31, 2001


Filed under: unlisted — suzanne henderson @ 12:00 am

part 1:

So, I’m tired of driving and finally get to stop and trade off for a while. We pull off and stop at this gas station. We sit arguing in the car about who is going to pump or pay for gas, paying no attention to the fact that there is no one around. We continue arguing while getting out of the car and grab the gas pump, and I cannot figure out why the pump is not telling me how much gas is. Of course, I am still stuck on making sure that I win the argument and that I am right, so I keep chatting while finally taking my first real look around the station. And finally, I see the CLOSED sign staring out at me. And we are not taking about a past-business-hours closed sign; this is a full-fledge out-of-business closed sign. Once it dawned on me, I couldn’t stop laughing. Wow, hadn’t laughed so hard in a while.

part 2:

You always know you’re gonna miss something when you have had too much to drink and you stumble out to the car to crash. I mean, you can’t possibly be in two places at once, so whatever takes place in the bar is out of sight, out of mind. But I never realized just how much I would miss Friday night when I was sleeping off some tequila.

Here I’m snoozing, half-awake, fully-drunk, half-aware of what is going on. Then out rushes the torrent of drunk-excited voices, sputtering out curses and unrecognizable statements. Augments over who is kicked out and who can go back in spill in through the now open car door. Shouts of frustration pull me a little closer to sober (but still a few shots too far gone for it to matter). Of course, I have no clue what is happening or why, I don’t really care either. I just want to figure out a way that I can go back to my peaceful sleep. But instead, the hyper drunk voices decided to pile in next to me. I hear my name but I can tell they are not talking to me. Guess that I am drunk enough to warrant concern. I don’t really mind. I find that familiar and comfortable shoulder and return to my conscious dreaming. I am awake enough to be concerned about whether or not I will make it home alive. But instead of bringing up this valid inquiry, I make myself as relaxed as possible so that any collision will hopefully not cause too much damage.

The voices continue, now magnified by cramped quarters, and the argument about who was kicked out continues. Here I keep thinking that I must have missed something good. Too bad I can’t say that I got kicked out of backwards-bar in Oklahoma, but I can still be proud knowing that my family did. I still have no clue about what happened and also know that my drunk counter parts will prolly be of little help with filling out the blanks and I just don’t care enough to wake up enough to ask. So I just file it away and plan to ask about it later (which I never did). But I get home alive, after the need-more-beer-pit-stop, and stumble off to the bedroom to get some real sleep. I make it to the bed and catch fragments of conversation that seem to be about me. But I don’t have the energy or desire to join in, so instead, I just sleep and who knows what I missed then.