A few years ago, during the heat of the summer, I noticed some grotesque red bumps on my upper thigh; I was working in a hot kitchen all day, so I had become accustomed to having bumps and scratches and loose skin hanging off my bones. That said, these red bumps were particularly offensive to the eye, but seeking medical attention is such a drag, so I let them fester for a couple of weeks. It was around that time, a few weeks after the bumps had settled on my legs, while I was taking my lunch break outside the restaurant, that I saw a young woman walking towards me with a sway in her broad hips that hypnotized men. She stood about at about five foot nine, with legs that climbed up to her chin, and a bleached blonde Uma Thurman bob.
To this day I’m not sure where my courage came from, I had never cat called or even tried to flirt with a woman without the aided context of a dating app, but in a moment of blind passion,
I wiped the hummus from my lip, leapt from my seat just as she began to pass me, and yelled, “Hey!” down the street at her.
She turned to face me, looking angrier than when she had initially walked by.
“Yes?” she said.
I could feel my face heat up to a dangerous temperature, and a single bead of sweat cannonballed off my armpit hair and hit one of my stomach rolls.
“Um, I was wondering if there was any chance I could get your phone number,” I said.
She scanned me, taking in my embarrassment, and as she looked at me longer her face softened.
“You seem sweet, but I can’t give my number to everyone who asks, but if you want to get to know me you can meet me at–” She looked up at the door where my coworker Tristen stood ogling at the two of us.
“Do you need something Tristen?” I said.
He stepped outside, looked at me, then to the woman, then back to me.
“Naw, everythings good in there,” he said, his lip curling at their whiskered ends, and his eyes widening, moving over to the woman.
“You better watch out for Axe” –Tristen gestured toward me– “he’s always telling us about how good he is at Australian kisses.”
I barely managed to get out a dude before the woman asked, “And what would that be?” putting a hand on her hip.
“Well,” Tristen’s mouth opened wide enough to see all his fillings– “it’s a kiss. A kiss down under.”
I must’ve looked ready to throw a punch or cry because my face was redder than the ass of an orangutan, but when I looked the woman appeared entirely unfazed.
“I do like a man who’s well traveled,” she said.
“Ha! Don’t fuck this one up Axe,” Tristen said, winking at me as walked back into the restaurant.
“Sorry about him,” I said, the blood draining from my face. “He’s kind of an idiot, but mostly he’s really high.”
“That’s alright. I’m used to idiots,” she said, looking down at a plastic digital watch on her wrist. “I have to get going, but if you want to get my number, meet me at Dirty Frank’s around 9 tonight.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great, see you tonight,” she said, turning to walk away.
“Maybe we can talk about some of the other places I’ve been,” I called out to her as she maneuvered down the street into the mass of people going in and out of offices during the tail end of the one o’clock lunch rush.
I leaned back in my chair, feeling pretty good about myself, but when I rested my hand on my thigh I felt something wet; my nervous sweat had angered my rash, causing it spill out of my leg an onto my thin linen kitchen pants, leaving a yellowish stain in the shape of Illinois. It didn’t hurt, but I decided to walk into the bathroom to get a better look; I took off the soiled pants, and saw that the rash had begun to weep large opaque tears that had started to drip down my steaming hot leg. The strange part was the whole area felt numb, no pain at all, just a faint scratching like nails running along the area between the boiling layers of my skin. I chose to believe it was just a bad heat rash. I just didn’t have time to think it was anything else; so I pulled up my pants, tied my apron, and got back to work.
The rest of that shift was a blur. I know that it happened, but all I could think of was going to Dirty Franks. Punch out time came, I bolted out the door, and wove my way through the suits to get to my subway stop. When I made it back home I went to take off my pants, getting ready for a shower, but the goo that had been leaking out of my thigh had hardened, grabbing the thin cloth. At first I tried to take them off slowly, but that proved ineffective; so I pulled them down hard and fast, tearing the pants and leaving a piece still stuck to my leg. I began to sweat again. How the hell are my pants stuck on my leg so well? I went to the shower, thinking that I could scrub the cloth off my leg, but when water hit the piece of pants stuck to my festering rash it melted off of me like spit on cotton candy, opening a stream of viscous puss that seemed to have been blocked by the pants. I tried my best to stop it up by tying a towel around the top of my thigh like a tourniquet, but the flood gates wouldn’t close. The room began to spin, and my hairy naked body fell, collapsing on the cold tile floor with a thud. As my consciousness faded I thought the last place I wanted to be found dead was on the floor of my bathroom with my bare ass up in the air and a towel tied to my leg.
When I was aware of my body again I was fully clothed and walking. “What the fuck,” I muttered to myself. Somehow I had dressed myself, and done it well; I was wearing a deep navy blue sweater over a pair of washed out jeans. I stopped short on the sidewalk and pulled out my phone in an attempt to parse together where I was, but when I turned my phone on I noticed the time 8:53. All my notions of figuring out what had happened went out the window when I realized I might be late for my date. Instinctually I opened Google Maps, and put in Dirty Franks; somehow I was only three blocks away. I actually was going to be early.
I walked into Franks, scanned the bar for any sign of the woman, but if she was there I couldn’t see her; so I took a seat at the bar and ordered myself a citywide, which is a PBR and a shot of Jack Daniels. The bar wasn’t packed, but there were a good mix of professional drunks seated around the u-shaped bar and young hipsters seated at the booths that lined the outer wall of the bar. I downed the shot, and pulled out my phone. It read 9:05. I figured she would be fashionably late; no one as pretty as her would be on time. The glow of my phone illuminated my face as I scrolled through a hodgepodge of memes and pictures. I finished my beer, and the clock was at 9:12, still no sign of her. I ordered another citywide, finished it by 9:30 and still with no sign of her I ordered another. My legs began to quake, and cold sweat started to develop on my stomach. I just couldn’t understand why she would tell me to meet her here and not show up. I was checking my news app to see if she had been in some sort of terrible accident when the doors opened and standing right there, wearing a t-shirt and jeans was Joey “The Juice” Monahan from my youth baseball days.
“Joey!” I yelled over the hum of bar talk.
“Axe?” he said, walking over towards me.
“Joey, what are ya doing here?”
“I’m meeting a couple friends here in a bit, but I always get places early,” he said.
“Apparently got here too early to because my date… she didn’t even come, not even to pretend that she was interested.”
“Oh, that sucks Axe, but I should really grab that booth over ther—”
“Nonesense,” I said. “Grab this stool, I’ll get you a citywide.”
“Honestly Axe I think I’m–”
“Ma’am,” I yelled. “Could you pleaaaaase get us two citywides.”
Joey looked at me with furrowed brows, “Axe, I’m honestly gonna get going, but you take care of yourself. Maybe we can catch up another time,” he said, backing away just as the shots and beers were placed on the bar.
“Yeah, ok Juice. I guess I’ll just see ya around.”
“What did you call me,” Joey said, whipping around to face me.
“I called ya Juice,” I said. “That’s what we all called you because of yur drippy drippy gross acne, that you had all over your sticky face.”
“Axe you need to get a grip,” he said, stepping back from me. “Sober yourself up and go home before you say something stupid to someone you don’t know.”
“Screw off, and get your booth,” I said.
“Ok, take care of yourself Axe,” Joey said, walking towards the other corner of the bar.
