never seen him drunk, Arnie, he’s always lucid no matter how many drinks he’s had.”
“Eddie’s a skillful lush; he’s an expert at hiding his alcoholism. It’s called the ‘Liar’s Disease’ for a very good reason.”
“Don’t be so sure. A rehab counselor once told me an alcoholic is defined, not by how much he drinks, Arnie, but by what effect the alcohol has on his personality after he drinks.”
The bar manager stopped polishing. “Listen to me, Jimmy, I’ve been around drunks my entire life and that bozo counselor doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
“It’s his business, Arnie, it’s the way he makes his living.”
“Yeah, maybe so, but I’ll wager he doesn’t own a Mercedes or an apartment in Manhattan!”
Carl Pizzi, wearing a frayed sweatshirt, washed-out dungarees, and a stained Mets baseball cap on his head, entered the bar with a big-city-swagger.
“Speak of the Devil,” Arnie muttered, then suddenly remembered an urgent chore at the other end of the room.
Carl plopped down next to Jimmy and, true to form, immediately violated barroom protocol by hitting on a brunette a few stools away. “Hi, sweetie, I got a rocket in my pocket! Let’s do-the-hokeypokey, you and me!”
She quickly turned a cold shoulder.
Then he yelled at Arnie’s retreating back. “What’s a customer gotta do to get a watered-down drink in this crummy joint?”
“Take a chill pill, Carl, talking shit to people is no way to make friends.”
“I got all the friends I need, Jimmy, thank you very much.”
“A person can never have too many friends.”
Ashley, a statuesque brunette bartender with small body tattoos, made an appearance. A former model, she was a college student during the day.
“What’s with your boss, Ash?”
“Arnie doesn’t like you, Carl, he’d rather you took your business somewhere else.”
“I’m going to complain to Hilda, his customer relations skills suck.”
“That won’t get you anywhere, Carl, she doesn’t like you either.”
He smiled. “Do you like me, Ash?”
She looked him up and down critically. “I like your Mets hat.”
“That’ll do, babe, bring me a gin and tonic.”
“Coming right up.”
“I heard about you losing your job, Jimmy, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks for your concern.”
“He jabbed a thumb towards Ashley. “Now her job is recession-proof, the worse the economy gets, the more tips she makes. People guzzle drinks by the case when they’re worried about paying the bills.”
“I’m not so sure even her job is safe anymore.”
“Oh?”
“An IBM supercomputer recently defeated two former champions on the Jeopardy game show and won the $1.0 million prize. Now that computers can understand and respond to a spoken language, the pundits believe they can replace humans in many service jobs.”
He snickered. “I got a question for you, Jimmy.”
“Go ahead.”
“When’s the last time you got a hard-on staring at a computer?”
“You may have a point there, Carl, about bartenders.”
“They don’t call themselves bartenders anymore, Jimmy, now they want to be known as mixologists.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, everybody is status conscious today, they want important sounding titles.”
“Maybe so.”
“I … ‘scuse me, I gotta snee…” He quickly pulled open the neck of his sweatshirt and sneezed onto his hairy chest.
Jimmy pivoted away in revulsion.
“I always get the sniffles when the seasons are about to change.”
He pushed a bunch of paper napkins towards Carl.
“So, Jimmy, do you have any job prospects?”
“Not really. The only stuff out there are straight sales jobs; no salary, no pension, no medical benefits; just commissions on what you sell.”
Carl nodded. “You eat what you kill.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“If you don’t make any sales this week, that’s tough shit. It means the wife and kiddies don’t eat next week.”
“Right, and you’re not an official employee on the company payroll. You’re merely an independent contractor, the same as a real estate broker.”
“Those kind of fucking jobs are for the birds!”
“I agree.”
Ashley delivered Carl’s gin and tonic.
“Maybe I’ll start a tab, babe.”
“In that case, I’ll require a credit card.”
He took out a thick roll of bills. “On second thought, Ash, can you break a hundred?”
She frowned. “Don’t bust my chops so early in the evening, Carl, it’s going to be a long night.”
He peeled off a crisp $20 bill and slapped it on the bar. “Buy yourself a wet one too, Ash, while you’re at it.”
“Thanks, but they don’t allow us to drink on duty. I’ll get your change.”
He held up the roll so Jimmy could get a good look before putting it away.
“That’s too much cash to be carrying, Carl, you’re asking for trouble.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Cash makes me feel good.”
“Hmm.”
You gotta remember, Jimmy, it wasn’t so long ago I had only lint in my pockets.”
“I remember.”
“Yeah, the same
