the coffee was swift this morning

monday was evan's birthday.  or maybe not?  we celebrated that day at the very least, but really that is only minor prerequisite knowledge for the rest of the story.  as it goes, for most of us in the service industry, monday is the day to get down.  on most occasions I am no exception to this generality, but for this one week.  working for the tourist powerhouse that is ralph and kacoo's, we are open seven days a week and can accommodate up to 1000 guests.  anything can happen.  and on the monday in question we were hosting 100 strong in one sitting and though two others were already pegged for the job, I was scheduled for the first time on that particular weekday in two months.  I discovered this fucking travesty the night before and was wildly upset, inwardly of course, as I wouldn't want to jeopardize my coveted, not to mention highly lucrative, position as busboy.  

now it is monday afternoon and I am sitting at a german diner, two beers down, stuffed with german potato salad and ultra efficient meatloaf.  naturally the decision becomes evident, the solution apparent to all at the table:  I am calling in sick.  and why not?  I have been a good and loyal servant to the machine, this is a loophole well deserved and the advantage is mine.  and so the call is made.  the day continues without incident.

what most of you don't know, however, is that as a child I used to suffer from terrible migraines.  in fact, I didn't even know myself until yesterday.  but as a young boy afflicted by a pain that could easily cripple an elephant, the rest of my life has found a sudden degree of clarity.  think back, then forwards ... treated and unjustly saved by a combination of contemporary western medicine and an ethereal nisqually medicine man, the current incarnation that you know and love seems easily explainable.  acute mental instability, hypersensitivity to light and sound, unpredictable, inexplicably aggressive shifts in mood, the lack of but one distant chinese character type facial expression ... good lord.  and to think I used to wonder why I might have a predilection for dimly lit bars, or  why the sound of other talking human beings routinely causes me to feel nauseous.  ah, what a waste the last seven or so odd years have been ... countless hours spent on a would-be mystery and only one missing bone.  now found I no longer need to question the sun rise and its correlation to my skull, why it fractures then craters above the spine and threatens to destroy me and all its other inhabitants, nor why I find myself at a loss to express the phenomenon.  it's all there and in place, so lash together the skeletal remains with some mortal fucking barbwire, we're going dancing.

... on thursday I went back to work, haggard and worn by illness, my twisted nerves and such.  the acting manager from two days previous asked me how I was doing.  not having said much throughout the day, my voice was coarse and low.  fine, I said.  doug raised his arm as if to fend off assault.  I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder.  don't worry doug, it was just migraines, not contagious to the best of my knowledge.  he put his arm back down, relieved.  poor man, I didn't have the heart to tell him that for the last month and a half I've been giving him cancer with my mind.  and then I walked off.