Last Week’s Dinner

Many years ago I was at our local watering hole. With nothing better to do I stayed till closing, shooting the bull with the Tavern’s owner, Chet. At the other end of the bar was one of my fellow logger employees, Jim. He lived just a short walk up the road. Jim, as was normal for a Friday night, had passed the inebriated state hours before, and was sleeping with his head on the bar. Usually Chet would wake him and he would stagger home. On this occasion Chet decided to have a little fun.

“Watch this,” he said with a smirk.

He then went to his drawer and pulled out a plastic replica of regurgitated food, better known as a puke pad. Though I am hesitant to do so, it is imperative that I go into detail what it’s contents looked like. It was a greenish swirling of chewed carrots, celery, and sausages, not to mention other unrecognizable morsels.  Whetted under the faucet it almost looked better than the real thing. In all its glistening glory he laid it on the bar beside Jim’s head. He then gave him a hard shake.

“Wake up ya damned drunk!” Chet bellowed.

Jim raised his head, mumbling incoherently with eyes glazed over. “What!” he blurted.

“Look what you did!” Chet yelled. “You got so drunk you puked all over my bar!”

Jim blinked his eyes a few times while attempting to focus in on what laid before him. After a few moments his thoughts seemed to come together.

“You sure that was me?” he replied.

“Who the hell else would it be!” Chet shot back.

Jim once more looked at the goo, suddenly giving a startled look. “No wonder I got sick!” he slurred out. He then jabbed a finger toward the shiny pool. “I ate those weenies and carrots way last week!”

Jim may have been a drunk, but at least he had a good memory.

 

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