A hot Thursday in May. What a gift.
Klarg was considering his options. He called in sick to work, a dangerous move considering all the other times he did that but, what the hell, when you work menial labor there are a million jobs available. Employers everywhere are happy to offer shit jobs at shit pay, while telling you what a great opportunity you are getting.
So what to do. Go to the beach? Good option. First of all there'll be a lot of hot chicks wearing tiny bathing suits. Ogling is an Olympic sport and Klarg has all the medals. And when he gets hot from that, and hot from the sun, into the ocean he goes.
Still, you gotta pack up, drive, find a parking spot, accumulate sand, sweat, rinse off, drive home...........a lot of effort. Troubling.
A sip of whiskey will help the decision process. It's only 8 in the morning but, drinking is natural and rules are not. If you restrict yourself to only drinking at night, well, you are missing out on large chunks of fun. And possible inspiration.
Klarg grabs his handle of Ten High and inhales a gulp, more than a sip, but he knows he can handle it.
Stop by the library? Klarg loves to read. You'd never know it by looking at him; he looks like a fucking Neanderthal. Nothing sticks when he reads. He could read the same book over and over again and be enthralled every time. He's an avid reader, not an avid rememberer.
But if he goes to the library he has to deal with the librarians. Actually talk to them. Fuck it - librarians are boring, man. Absolutely nothing interesting to say. Maybe some other day.
Another shot can't hurt.
It's 10 o'clock? How the hell did that happen?
He could go for a walk. Klarg likes his walks. Birds chirping, sweet, gentle breeze, time to think and space to do it in. Not sure, though - he's feeling kind of lazy - slept like crap last night. It was hot and he doesn't have AC. Sucks being poor. The weekend's supposed to be nice. Maybe take a walk on Saturday.
It's getting close to lunch time. Close enough, anyway. Better to make a decision on a full stomach.
German bologna, couple hunks of Velveeta, Wonder Bread, Gulden's Spicy, a Coors Light, shot of Ten High. Now we're cooking, baby. Time for The Young and the Restless; his favorite.
Thinking about Vivian, the next door neighbor. What a babe. Maybe after lunch he could do a Seinfeldian pop-in. He looks out the window and sees her on her lawn chair, reading. Not good. Last time he interrupted her reading, she asked him to leave. Rudely. Although, now that he thinks about it, she's never really been nice to him. More like tolerant. Chilly trending towards cold. He can't understand it.
Maybe some other day.
Klarg pops on to his laptop, looks around for afternoon activities. An outdoor concert maybe? Downtown block party? Market Days on Main Street? Nope. Don't people do anything anymore?
He calls up Bologna Bob. Bob works from home, and has a relaxed attitude about deadlines. No answer. Is he out or just ignoring him? Klarg is paranoid. He feels like he's an easy-going, likable guy, but it sometimes feels like his circle of friends is about the size of a pencil point.
It's 3 o'clock. Fuck it. He pours a sizable slug of Ten High, pops another Coors Light, and decides to watch TV until 6 o'clock, when he knows there is a concert in the town gazebo. Always a pleasant experience.
He wakes up at 8. He cannot believe it. Calls McDonald's and orders up a double cheeseburger, Quarter Pounder with Cheese, and large fries, for delivery. While he's waiting his ex-wife calls.
"Where's my fucking child support check, asshole?" More Ten High.
He wakes up the next morning with a massive hangover but goes to work anyway. Everyone tells him he looks like shit.
"Yeah", he says, "I'm really sick. But a paycheck's a paycheck, right?"
His co-workers laugh and walk away, not for the first time.
Klarg shuffles to the men's room, sneaks two nips of Smirnoff from his cargo pants, downs them efficiently, and gets right back to his work station.
He's a responsible employee.
