Forty's

(from Exercise #13)

All of this happened at a really tough time in our lives. Rocco’s old lady just got knocked up, meaning he’d have two kids and a lazy-ass wife to take care of. Slim Jim had finally gotten a job——actually found someone who’d take a shot on him. And I, well, shit…life was always hard on me but I ain’t pointin’ fingers.

This shit went down on a Thursday night. We’d gotten off of work and headed over to Forty’s for some beers. The week had been long but good and it was almost over. We didn’t want to wait for Friday. Not when the weekend was practically here.

We came in, one by one, since we all worked at different spots and got off at different times. I was the first one there and nursed some beers so I wouldn’t get shitty before they even showed up. To my surprise, Rocco was already drinking by the time he stepped in. When he sat next to me at the bar, he nudged me in the side, opened his denim jacket that always reeked of cigarettes, and showed me a flask. He’d taken a few pulls from it in the parking lot.

Slim had been tossed out of the bar a couple of months back for some bullshit so Rocco and I snuck off to the bathroom like fucking kids, trading a pull or two from the flask——Canadian whiskey. We were playing it smooth, drinking beers at the bar, watching the game, stepping out for a smoke and a pull or two from his flask. We called it “drinkin’ on the cheap” and I needed it since I was still temping at the warehouse, not getting paid the big bucks that a full-time forklift operator would rake in.

Fucking Slim showed up after 8 o’ clock——must have been around that time since the game was in the 3rd period. When he took a seat next to us at the bar, I could tell something was bothering him. Right away, he ordered a shot of Cuervo and some scotch on the rocks to chase it, standing and looking over at the bartender like he needed his drinks bad.

He comes around to tell us that he was sure he was gonna lose his job. Big wigs corralled everyone up in a meeting, saying that they shouldn’t be surprised if they’re let go in a couple of weeks. Seems like the guys heading the construction job were thinking of pulling out, since they couldn’t find companies interested in leasing the offices they were planning to build.

“They kept telling us, ‘If we build it, they will come.’ My fucking ass they will! No one’s stickin’ their neck out in this economy. No one’s gonna lease that space so why are they gonna keep payin’ us to build it?” Slim said before he downed his shot and started to drink from his scotch. “Just when I was thinking of buying a new car. The one I have now is goin’ to pieces.”

Slim got shitty in a hurry. We were all getting shitty real quick since Slim and Rocco kept sayin’, “Come on, come on. Drink with me.” I couldn’t say no to my buddies.

Before long, the bar was getting packed with all the kids, just off of sucking their momma’s teats, laughin' and goin’ on too damn loud about “Oh my god! Why is he texting me?” or “I shouldn’t be having this, but hey, my parents are paying for my car, so why not?” We couldn’t stand them but what could we do? The only other bar in town was Tiki’s Lounge, and we wasn’t about to get caught alive in that shithole. I mean, who drinks at a place called “Tiki’s Lounge”? Sounds like a place where a bunch of hot shot fruitcakes from the city go to “get away” or have a “power lunch”. Tiki’s Lounge…shit. All I’d wanna do is tinkle all over that goddamn place until it was yellow from piss. The one time I went in there were a bunch of old fogies, hunched over the bar, rotting away. I ain’t about to become one of them—ever. Rather deal with the fucking kids that go to Forty’s on Thursdays before they head up to the city on the weekend.

So what happened is this. Rocco was sittin’ at the corner of the bar, playing one of those video games where you have to touch the screen and if you do good, you get to see a picture of this hot-ass naked chick on the screen. I don’t know why the fuck he was doin’ that, since he could actually go home and get laid unlike me. Slim and I were standing at the bar, in front of our stools, watchin’ SportsCenter when a dart bounced off the wall, glancing off of Slim’s jacket. We turned and heard these punk kids, standing there pretending like nothing happened, while one of the skirts was turned away, her face beet-red because she was trying so hard to not laugh at us.

“The fuck’s a matter with you?” Slim said to them, his arms out.

That’s when we heard that dumb girl laugh and Slim pushed the closest guy. Just, pushed him. And that’s when one of his buddies clanked Slim on the face and we had no choice but to show ‘em who was boss. We were just defending ourselves. We weren’t the ones who started the whole deal. All we did was just react. And if we did that too well—busting their heads, breaking one of their jaws, beating the fuck out of them—then I guess that’s our only crime——that we were too strong, that we were too good at something.

But it’s what they deserved. They started it. I don’t see why our asses had to get hauled in when all we did was defend ourselves too well. Those fucking kids, thinking they’re all better than us because they got better rides with their fancy deskjobs, braggin’ about how they’re gonna live in the big city someday. What they learned that night is that all of that don’t mean shit when it’s man to man, our fists to their faces. We’re on a more level playing field there. And we may be stronger men then they’ll ever be but that doesn’t stand for shit these days now. Not when we’re tossed in the clank for just being more of a man.