I knew it was going to be a bad day when my alarm clock didn't ring. First, I got into the restaurant late and Steve, the sous chef, cajoled me into working the evening shift. Next, my girlfriend Elizabeth dumped me because she said I was too immature. As if watching reruns of Beverly Hills 90210 and Buffy the Vampire Slayer was more mature. Then there was that incident at the bar. To celebrate my new-found bachelorhood, my buddy Cole took me out to our favorite stomping ground, Matt's bar, home of the famous "Juicy Lucy's". I don't know who Lucy was, but her cheeseburgers are fabulous.
It was a Friday night; the usual crowd was there. It was also karaoke night. I never cared for it, too cheesy, but I love watching other people make a fool of themselves. Cole and I walked into the smoke-filled bar to quench our thirst with a few Killians. Later we decided to head over to the pool table and try our luck. Unfortunately most of them were taken-except for one where a heavy-set guy was playing.
"Excuse me," Cole yelled, trying to get his voice above the current performer, someone with a whiney voice singing 'Oops I did it again' by Miss Spears. "Can we play the next round with you?"
"Sure," he smiled, chalking up his cue stick. My eyes were immediately mesmerized by a crimson and blue tattoo of a cobra on his bicep that seemed to ripple down his muscles with every flick of his wrist. We played three or four games, chatted about the Twins, how much we hated our job and the former gov Jesse Ventura. We were all surprised to find how much we had in common, in fact a little too much. Eventually our conversation turned towards women.
"Do you remember Chelsea?" I asked Cole.
"Your old girlfriend? Ohhhh yeah. You got lucky," Cole said with a big grin plastered on his face. "Biggest tits I ever saw, and the perfect size to fit my hands around. I spent many nights fantasizing about her. Where is she now, studying in France?"
"Probably, she loved all that French crap. But she sure knew how to give some good French kisses. And not only on the mouth if you know what I mean. She could give it better than anyone else I know."
"I bet, Cole snickered, "By the way, what was her last name?"
"Uh, let me see, I think it was Har…rison, no Hendricks. That's it Chelsea Hendricks."
At this point our new friend suddenly shot his eyes up from the eight ball he was aiming at and set them dead center on me.
"Chelsea Hendricks did you say?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said
"Long blonde hair, about 5'6, talks about Luke Perry all the time, lives in St. Louis Park?"
"Wow," I chuckled, "Do you know her?"
"Know her," he spat, "she's my fuckin' girlfriend you a-hole!"
My throat slowly began to constrict. Before I could see what was coming, he reached across the table and punched me hard in the jaw. I don't remember much after that except experiencing a shooting pain up my spine and then everything turning black. After the incident Cole took me to the doctors where I got stitches in my lip and a week off from work to recover from my concussion. I never saw the guy again, and Cole didn't mention that night at the bar other than to describe the profanities he uttered as the cops were handcuffing him. Nor did I get back together with Elizabeth. In fact the only good thing I can say that came out of that entire day was a week off from Steve and the restaurant.