Duffy’s “Pub”

I've been a bit ill all week, missed work Monday.
I was in a shitty mood yesterday. I called up my insurance company Wednesday and told them to drop the PT cruiser and add the junker. The PT is costing me $633 a year, and Evil-X has it. And my van is still broken. And my daughter has the junker more often than I do.
So I had been pretty happy that the insurance company seemed OK with dropping the Cruiser. They called me first thing yesterday, and told me that Evil-X had called and vetoed the cancellation. Damn!
Then Married Lady told me, again, how cute I was.
Then Evil-X called. “Where's Patty?” she demanded. “I don't know,” I lied, “probably sleeping.” Actually she had spent the night at her friend's house, but I'm so sick of X it's a pleasure to make the parasite worry.
She had, of course, dug it in a little farther a few days ago, telling me how she and her boyfriend got along so well, never fighting. Of course they get along, he's not supporting her parasitic ass (although he's paying for her cable TV), they're going out together all the time, unlike us when we were married and most of all, she's not telling him where his furniture has to go, what he can and can't eat (and when), that he has to be quiet and not watch TV or listen to the radio, what he can't and has to spend his money on...
I get in a bad mood talking to the fatassed ugly bitch. I'm glad she's gone. I wish she were gone completely, especially out of my car insurance.
I had told Patty that she had to be home and take care of her animals before lunch. No sign of her, and the cell phone didn't seem to be working. I had plans on grounding her.
She called at work while I was at a meeting, and left a voice mail message saying only “where are you?”
Well DUH, I'm at work.
When I finally started walking home (my house is only a few blocks from work), I stopped by the cell phone company to pay the bill, and it was huge. Did I go over my minutes?
No, the last check had bounced. Which was why the phone had stopped working.
I found a check for four hundred bucks from Uncle Sam in my mailbox - tax cut. OK, that's nice, but it isn't enough to buy my vote, George. But thanks, I can use the Goober Mint money.
I tried calling the cell again, and this time it rang. Patty answered. “Where are you?” I asked. “I'm at Faggot's waiting for Mom. Gasoline was spraying all over under the hood and I was afraid to drive it home.”
And I had so looked forward to grounding her... she was off the hook, and came home about 45 minutes later. I was going to drive down to Dempsey's for a beer, but I let her talk me out of the car.
Like I said, I haven't felt very well all week, and wasn't going to walk to Dempsey's. So I decided to go to Duffy's.
It has been a fairly pleasant summer, except for the July 4th weekend. It seems our normal hellishly hot summer weather has been on vacation in Europe. I got hot yesterday, though, since the air conditioning at work was shut off or something; it was hotter inside than outside. I took a shower and walked to Duffy's.
I got a minipitcher and sat down by the north window and watched the sun set. Nice one last night, big orange and pink thunderheads in the distance. By the time the sun finished setting, there were a few empty stools at the bar, so I moved back over to a bar stool.
A couple walked in, a fat bald man who looked forty or fifty, and a redneck looking woman maybe twenty five, or even younger. “Looks like we get the last two stools,” bald guy says. They sat down, she next to me and he next to her.
Somehow, I got involved in their conversation. I had finished most of my pitcher, as well as two or three beers before walking over. I had gotten into a jovial mood; these two were hilarious. She was trying to talk herself into a waitress job at his restaurant, and he was... well, it didn't take a mind reader to figure out what he was after.
I noticed a wedding ring, a very thin gold (or brass) one, no diamonds. “So,” I said, “you're married? Where's your husband?”
“Oh, that asshole is at home. God damned dickhead, I hate his fucking guts.”
“So, uh, if you hate him why don't you divorce him?”
“He doesn't want a divorce, and I can't afford one. I need a job.”
Apparently the poor schmuck she was married to was supporting this woman, who was at least as evil as X.
“How long have you been married?” I asked conversationally. After all, if all I wanted was beer, I could drink it a lot cheaper at home. I was there to converse with and laugh at the rednecks.
“Almost a year.”
“And you hate him?”
“Well, I only knew him for ten days before we were married.”
“Ten days?”
“Yeah, I thought if I got married they'd let me have my four year old back.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, my Mom tricked me into signing him over for adoption.”
“How did she do that?”
“I can't read. She told me it had to do with getting my dad out of prison.”
“You can't read?”
“Well, not much. I'm dyslexic.”
Her friend says “have you heard about the D.A.M.?”
“What's that?” I asked.
“Mothers Against Dyslexia!”
He had a million of 'em. He looked around to make sure there were only blue eyed rednecks around, and lowered his voice and asked, “what's the three things you can't give somebody from 15th street?”
“I don't know,” I said.
“A black eye, a fat lip, or a job!”
She laughed uproariously. I'd heard it before. “I have to tell my dad that one!” she says.
“So,” I asked, “What's he in prison for?”
“Armed robbery. At least he didn't kill anybody.”
I was kind of at a loss for words.
“My mom's brother's in prison, too. Second degree murder, but he didn't really kill anybody...”
“Huh??” I asked, perplexed.
“He punched a pregnant woman in the stomach and she had a miscarriage.”
Oh, there was a lot more. I wish I could remember it all... her stepdad was her uncle, because when her dad went to prison, her mom married his brother, who then went to prison himself. The whole thing was surreal, and I enjoyed it like a Cheech and Chong movie. I stayed longer than I usually do at Duffy's, just for the entertainment.