Noah Cicero - The Collected Works of Noah Cicero Vol. II

“You are so fucking weird. What about tomorrow night? Sunday is quiz night.”

“Yeah, tomorrow sounds fine. The bar will be what, half-full. I can handle half-full. I can’t handle full.”

“Yes Vasily, the bar will only be half-full.”

Beth runs away then.

Everybody always invites me to go out. I don’t know why. I think they feel sorry for me.

They probably feel sorry for me because I stand here looking morbid all day while washing dishes. But I really don’t know how I’m supposed to get into the spirit of washing dishes, like it wouldn’t make sense if the dishwasher was giggling and smiling and loving life all day.

Dishwashing sucks.

I’m not a happy dishwasher.

I’m not even a happy person.

On my days off I’m usually completely miserable.

I wonder if Gina is going tomorrow.

I wash dishes, waiting for Gina to drop off some plates.

Gina always asks me to go to the bar, not with her specifically, but she does say things like, “Hey Vasily, you should come out tonight.”

But Gina has a boyfriend and I’m always afraid he’ll be there, so I never go.

Gina drops off some plates.

I yell, “Hey Gina!”

Gina says, “Hey Vasily!”

“Gina, are you going to the bar tomorrow?”

“Yeah, why? Are you finally going to go out with us?”

“Yeah, I think I might.”

A smile comes over her face.

A smile.

Gina has such a pretty smile.

She smiled because of me.

I’m such an ass.

Gina says, “Yeah, and my boyfriend isn’t coming. He wants me to act reserved, but I want to have fun tomorrow night.”

“That sounds great.”

Gina goes back to work.

It is the end of the night.

I walk out into the dining room to bring glasses to the bar.

The female servers are all standing around in a circle.

One server is talking about how her mom doesn’t like her boyfriend.

One server is talking about how her boyfriend is going to school to become an electrician.

One server is having a text message war with her boyfriend.

One server is complaining about her boyfriend in bed.

One server is talking about how great the movie

Wild Hogs

is.

I’m sitting outside smoking a cigarette.

It is dark now.

The moon shines a nice light over the mall parking lot.

A seventeen-year-old hostess named Christa is standing near me.

She is obviously anorexic.

She is five-four and weighs eighty-seven pounds.

Without looking at her, I say, “You need to gain weight.”

“What?”

“You need to gain weight. Peak oil is coming.”

“What the fuck is peak oil?”

“It would take too long to explain. But you need body fat to survive it.”

“Isn’t oil like something that comes from the ground?”

“Yes, that is correct,” I say.

“How does it peak?”

“Listen, it would take too long to explain. All you need to know is that your anorexia is bullshit. You need to gain weight and get fatter. Your head is huge.”

She looks at me like I’m an ass, then she leaves.

The night is finally over.

It was a horrible night.

I should have killed myself during it.

But I’m a coward.

I get into my 1990 Jetta.

I sit down and start the car and reach over to turn on the radio.

My hand finds empty space.

I look to where the radio should be.

Nothing is there but a bunch of dangling wires.

I consider punching the steering wheel.

But I don’t.

The car has no heat, two of the doors won’t open, it burns oil, the horn doesn’t work, and now it has no radio.

I consider getting angry but I just finished work and I don’t have the energy to dwell on a stupid stereo.

I drive home in silence.

I open the window and let the sound of crickets and frogs flood the car.

The crickets and frogs sound better than most songs anyway.

Chang and I are sitting at the Lampost Lounge.

The Lampost Lounge is the strip joint down the street from where we live.

It is small and weird.

It only ever has about three girls at once.

It is not a classy strip joint.

The Lampost Lounge is a small place that serves alcohol and has three girls in bikinis who will dance on your lap for five dollars.

I told Beth I didn’t go to bars on Saturdays. But the Lampost Lounge isn’t a bar; it’s a small strip joint with never more than ten customers.

Viper, our favorite dancer, comes over and says, “Look who it is. The dynamic duo of self-flagellation.”

Chang looks at me and says, “Is she talking about us?”

Viper says, “Have you two done anything fun lately?”

“No,” I say.

“Last week I had an abortion. It was awesome. They got this vacuum cleaner thingy and sucked that little fucker right out.”

“They should do that with my brain,” Chang says.

“That would be good for America,” I say.

“Do either of you fine gentlemen want a dance?”

“Yes, please. I need a dance. The loneliness has consumed me. My heart has been crushed by government policies. My head aches with despair, alienation, desolation, and I can no longer be confronted with this dismal reality without the feel of your butt smashing hard into my genitals. My sad, forsaken, forlorn genitals. My genitals beseech your buttocks, Viper.”

Viper looks at me and laughs and says, “Let my ass soothe your genitals. Let my buttocks engulf your discontented member in this neon-lighted tavern of abject misery. Let your postmodern tears plummet to my round white butt cheeks. Allow my ass lumps to soften your burden of being a disgruntled dishwasher, of being a man who feels homeless and weary. Who vomits at the very idea of John Travolta making another movie.”

Chang says, “She’s good, give her a big tip.”

After the dance, Viper leaves.

A dancer named Kathy comes over and says to Chang, “Hey Chang, what’s the capitol of Thailand?”

Chang looks confused and says, “Bangkok.”

“That’s right, Bangkok.” As Kathy says this she punches Chang in the dick.

Chang grabs his crotch.

We all laugh at Chang.

Holding his dick, Chang says, “You bitch, I’ll kill you.”

“You ain’t killing shit, Chang,” Kathy says.

Then Kathy walks away, laughing.

“She punched you in the dick.”

“Life is hopeless.”

“I know, but at least we don’t tell ourselves that it’s awesome and we deserve great things like success and well-mannered children.”

“If I owned a gun I would shoot myself.”

“You probably would,” I say.

Janisa walks over. She’s a pretty Puerto Rican girl who speaks Spanish and has an accent, but is actually from Chicago and has never stepped foot in Puerto Rico.

Janisa sits next to Chang and says, “How you doing?”

“Kathy just punched me in the dick.”

“Oh yeah? Do you need a massage?”

“With your hand?”

“Yeah, not inside of course.” Janisa moves her mouth close to Chang’s ear and says, “There’s something about Asians that gets me wild.”

Chang smiles like a little boy.

“Please,” Chang says.

“Ten dollars.”

“Okay.”

Chang puts ten dollars in her garter belt.

Janisa massages Chang’s bruised penis.

Chang says, “I’m an immigrant too.”

“I’m from Chicago, but where you from?”

“China. You know what the Long March is?”

“No, what’s that?”

“If you want you can come back to my place and I’ll show you,” Chang says, so suave.

Janisa laughs hysterically.

Chang looks at me and says, “This bitch is all about me.”