Category: My stories

I remember the first time I saw the word Chablis.
It was at a restaurant, and I was looking at the wine list.
I pronounced it chabliss.
My brother called me a dumb little asshole.
“It’s pronounced Chablis.”
I was only three. I didn’t know any better.
Or maybe two. Which would have made my brother… four? Or five?
Where did he get that language, anyway?
The waitress asks me if I’m okay.
I look up, realize I’m at a strip club.
“What was your name again?”
“Chabliss,” she says, smiling.
“Right,” I say. “Can I see the wine list?”

Every morning, I fill a big glass mug with ice.
Sometimes, I drink water.
Other times, I drink iced tea.
However, there’s days when I’m distracted or lazy, and I just let the mug full of ice sit.
The ice melts slowly, until there’s maybe a small iceberg on top of the water.
Or nothing at all.
So, I walk back to the kitchen, pour our the water, and fill the mug with ice again.
And then it’s five. Time to go home.
I pour the mug out again, wash it, and set it back on the shelf for tomorrow.

What’s so fancy about Fancy Feast?
That’s not chicken and beef and fish in those cans.
No, that’s mermaid and unicorn and dragon meat.
And not just mermaid and unicorn and dragon… only the finest cuts of the mermaid and unicorn and dragon.
Because nobody wants the gristle and sinew from those creatures.
Not even a cat.
Some cat food makers try to use troll and ogre filler, but that’s disgusting.
Sure, you save a few pennies per can, but isn’t your cat worth the best?
Certainly. Mine are. Even if they just vomit it all up on my shoes.

I like to listen to smooth jazz at work.
I start Amazon Prime Music and pick a station… Oscar Peterson, Dave Brubek, John Coltrane.
And then I hit Play.
That’s all.
No messing with a radio or listening to sponsorships and commercials.
Just random smooth jazz tracks, one after the other.
Sure, it costs money, but I already get Amazon Prime for the free shipping and the television streaming.
I’m sure there’s even more benefits I don’t use.
But I don’t need a baby registry, and I don’t have a Kindle.
I’m happy with my free shipping.
And smooth jazz.

We like to drive to the Shake Shack and watch the waitresses skate from car to car, taking orders and bringing out trays of shakes and fries and burgers.
“Push the call button,” says Pops. “Everybody smile.”
A waitress rolls out to our car, and Joey grabs a hold of her hand, clamps a steel handcuff over her wrist, and latches it on to the car’s frame.
“Let’s roll,” says Pops.
We start off slow, so we can hear the waitress scream, but Pops says “Floor it.”
Eventually the wheels break apart.
Fast food is bad for you, you know.

I was born in Chicago, and my grandfather used to take me and my brother to Cubs games.
All the National League teams came to Wrigley: The Mets, The Cardinals, The Phillies…
The Pirates wore their yellow and black.
Now, this was before Wrigley had lights, so every home game was a day game.
If the game went into extra innings, the umpires would call the game when it got too dark.
The station at Addison, full of angry drunk fans.
Take the Red Line South, then the Green Line West.
Back in Oak Park for a quiet family dinner.

Hillary fainted at the 9/11 ceremony.
She said he had overheated. On a nice day in the mid-seventies.
So, a group of large men in suits put her in a black van and drove her away.
Her doctor said that she had been suffering from pneumonia and had become dehydrated.
I’m not confident in a presidential candidate who thinks that the solution to dehydration is to ask for a group of men in suits to shove them into a black van instead of, perhaps, giving her a glass of water.
No wonder why medical care is so fucking expensive.

A poet died recently.
I think you knew them.
They were good, weren’t they?
The poets agree.
A good poet, and a good person.
Had they been ill?
I don’t know.
I don’t know what they died from.
Unless she was killed by a serial killer who travels the world and kills poets, what business of it is yours?
You want to know, so you can hold a fundraiser?
If she died from cancer, a cancer fundraiser.
If she died from heart disease, a heart disease fundraiser.
I still don’t see the point. It’s far too late to save her.

My grandmother didn’t have a funeral.
She’d outlived her two husbands, and everyone from her generation of the family.
“Why doesn’t anyone visit?” she’d asked.
“You’re the last one left,” said my mother.
My parents took over caring for her after my mom’s sister had pretty much robbed my grandmother blind, selling off everything, giving her kids all kinds of gifts.
Let’s not talk about my brother. He’s dead to me, okay?
So that just left me.
“What’s the point?” said my mother.
So, I hung up the phone, sat in the parking lot of the grocery store, and wept.

Billy Smith was a great quarterback.
He could throw, he could run.
And he was the best quarterback ever at the quarterback sneak.
If all he needed was a yard, then he’d get it.
TOUCHDOWN!
Not only would he get the yard, but he’d steal the defensive line’s wallets.
“Here you go,” he says, tossing them back.
Lose your car keys? Billy’s got em.
He was so sneaky, he’d fuck one or two of their girlfriends without them noticing.
The problem was, he was the holder for the extra point kick.
And that’s when the defense would kick his ass.