Pickles and Ice Cream (Part 1)

Before we got married my wife and I lived together for four years. So when we discussed marriage, Beth kind of had a, “What-the–hell-are-you-waiting-for?” attitude which I’m sure you can imagine was super fun for me. Nothing like someone subtly pressuring you into one of the most important decisions of your life, but I submitted and popped the question. In hindsight, of course she was right, and I wish I had done it sooner.

Until recently, when we discussed having children, this time we were both indecisive. We love kids and babysit Beth’s sister’s two girls frequently, but we were always happy to give them back and go home to the sanctity and peace of our child-free house. But the truth is, my wife and I aren’t getting any younger and her biological clock was ticking faster than a jackrabbit so we decided to “pull-the-goalie” and see what happened.

Once my wife gets something in her head however, there’s no turning back. Simply pulling the goalie wasn’t going to cut it and she soon became an expert on fertility and all things concerning women’s reproductive health. Well it turns out that to get good and pregnant is truly a miracle and it’s a wonder that people get pregnant at all. It’s not just about having sex and sperm meeting egg and “boom” you’re pregnant. No sir. The timing has to be just about perfect for this amazingly complicated thing to happen. It’s all about ovulation and cervical fluid consistency and temperature and… well…timing. Charting your temperature is crucial to know when you’re ovulating at maximum capacity so each morning at about 4:30 my wife would take her temperature with this little thermometer. She would stick it under her tongue and it would beep at a slow, consistent pace for a while until the temperature registered and then it would beep really fast for a few seconds letting her know that it was done. It kind of sounded like a tiny, annoying alarm clock. Because I’m a light sleeper, I would wake up to this persistent noise every morning for about four months straight. But, it was for a good cause, so I didn’t complain.

Well, as my wife likes to say, “We nailed it”, and our miracle happened--but it didn’t come easy. I could tell something was up when, after a long day of work, she didn’t feel like a glass of wine. The next day was the same—no wine. Now, to most people, not feeling like a glass of wine for a couple of days is no big deal but I was ready to hit the panic button. “Who is this person?” I thought. Beth’s cycle is like clockwork and after being “late” she took a pregnancy test and the results were inconclusive. If you’ve never seen one of these tests it’s a small plastic stick that has this circle thingy which shows a visible vertical line that you pee on. In a few minutes, and if you’re pregnant, there will appear a horizontal line cutting directly through the middle of the existing vertical line making the plus (+) symbol. Easy right? Well what they don’t tell you in the directions is that there’s already a very faint horizontal line showing before you pee on it and, in our case, after the peeing, the horizontal line registered but barely much darker than what was showing initially. The next day she tried again with the same result. I even considered peeing on one so at least we’d have a control example.

Not ones to be discouraged, we went to the hospital and had her take a pregnancy test there. Beth was sure the results would be positive so we were surprised when the nurse called and told us that she was not pregnant. We were disheartened but not convinced, so Beth went and bought a few more tests. One shows a color if you’re pregnant and the other has a vertical line and another one right next to it will appear if you’re pregnant. She would bring the stick out of the bathroom and show it to me or take a picture of it and text it to me while I was at work and each time and I was never convinced. The stupid line just seemed too faint. In total, Beth took seven at home tests plus two hospital visits before we figured out the truth. She was DEFINITELY pregnant.

Duck Farts and Cheesy Fries

Alcohol is a strange and wonderful thing isn’t it? It makes people do the craziest stuff and as a bartender, I have a front row seat to witness people affected by adult beverages. Here’s a little sample for your reading pleasure (or horror).

What ever happened to manners?

A simple “please” and “thank you” goes a long way when you’re trying to get the bartender's attention let me tell you. In fact, when I don’t get these common courtesies the perpetrator will find that the ordinarily exemplary service I provide will dwindle dramatically. So, if you whistle or knock on the bar or snap your fingers (yes, people still do this) or shout in an attempt to get my attention, I might pretend that you’re not even there. Shit, I might even have to explain the rules to you. Here they are:

• If you need me, be patient. I know that if you don’t get another rum-and-coke your head might explode but guess what, you’re not the only one here.
• If you don’t know my name, just ask! Or try one of the following like this, “Excuse me, when you get a minute, do you think I could get another one of these please?” Or, “Sir, my I please have another one?” It’s really not hard.
• Never, ever, ever, refer to me as “Tiger” or “Champ” or “Guy” or some other name you would use on a six year old. I know that my appearance belies my age but I’m forty for chrissake.

I can hear you!

You know the “private” conversation that you’re having with your best friend at the bar? Did you happen to notice that my head is about a foot and a half from your personal space and I’ve been reorganizing the same stack of cocktail napkins for the last fifteen minutes? Yup, I have heard EVERYTHING! Gee, it sure is interesting that you haven’t had an orgasm for two years or that the guy you met on the internet just wanted to have sex with you and he lied about wanting to “find someone” or that you think that the woman at the table behind you looks like a slut or that your last boyfriend had a big one but couldn’t last, or that your jeans cost only $250 but your coat was, like, $750. Or you can’t grow a proper “landing strip”. Yes, I eavesdrop but I can’t help myself. It’s like watching reality TV live and I just can’t resist. What it comes down to is that people are so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t even notice I’m there until they need a drink.

Know when to say when!

When you’re drunk you’re drunk and it’s almost never pretty whether you are male or female. I know it’s not fair, but women for the most part are particularly obnoxious when they are sauced. If you don’t believe me or even disagree, that’s fine, but once you have been a sober witness to literally thousands of drunk people like I have, you might change your mind. It gets particularly tough to watch with older women—it’s just embarrassing. Last summer we had an incident where it was last call on a weekend and my co-worker and I refused to serve a couple of ladies who probably had too much to drink before they even got to us. So we politely cut them off.

Can I just pause here and say how goddamn embarrassing it is to have to tell somebody that they've had enough. For some reason it's harder when they're women and older than me. “I’m sorry ma’am but I think we’ve done all we can do for you tonight” is the nicest way to put it. Sometimes they don’t understand and just stand there swaying back and forth and staring blankly which is always sad. And then, several awkward moments later, the inevitable question, “Why?” Why? Seriously? Well for starters, your fly is unzipped, and your breath smells like someone puked in a litter box and you can barely stand and I don’t think that you are normally cross-eyed…besides that I don’t have a single reason.

Anyway, these ladies decided to stumble outside and came back a few short minutes later thinking that they were in a different bar and attempted to order a drink. Again the answer was no and they left in a huff and tried to get served elsewhere. Well, despite their best efforts, they apparently couldn’t get served anywhere so they came back and parked themselves outside at our patio seating. Mind you, this all took place within twenty minutes while we where closing down and getting everyone out of the bar. I almost forgot about them honestly until I saw that they had a cab ready and waiting but the ringleader refused to get in explaining to her friend that she wasn’t done “partying”. I couldn’t believe it. Getting a cab at any hour in this town is a minor miracle let alone at last call. Finally, in a last ditch effort to redeem herself and keep “partying”, our hero gathered herself together, stood up, steadied herself for a second and headed back in to the bar. As soon as I saw her coming, I exited the bar and let the other bartender deal with her because I could almost not bear to watch. I kid you not this is was what she said: “Could I get a Duck Fart and some cheesy fries?” It was as if she was in a drunken time warp and got zipped back to a place where she was much younger and in a bar where this was a common order. She didn’t even say please…