7.04.2009

That Richie Cunningham could be a real cocksucker when he wanted to be...

No one likes an awkwardly close
two-seater men's room
especially at a bar
but someone's got to
break the silence.

We were both done
draining the vein.
I made it to the sink first.
The motion-activated sensor
wasn't working
despite my drunken hand gestures
in its general direction.

"Jesus Christ. Just my luck," I said
while doing the rain dance.

"The fuckin' thing only works sporadically."
We were both a bit impressed
with his alcohol-unimpaired vocabulary.

I squatted down, reached up to where
the steel met the porcelain, and
tightened a loose fitting with my left hand.
It worked when I tried summoning
the water gods again.

"Good job, man," he rejoiced.

"I'm a plumber by trade. Don't tell anyone. It's embarrassing
but practical, and it pays the bills."

"Hey, I've seen your work. I know some people..."

"I hate even working on my own house, but thanks."

Last Call came an hour later.
The bartender only bought me one drink
despite all the rounds I'd shelled out
my hard-earned cash for.
My left hand twitched with the lack of appreciation
and that sink managed to break itself again.
What would the Fonz have done?

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