The Interview
Authors: Eric Weule
INTERVIEW
ERIC WEULE
BALLERINA BLUES PUBLISHING
Los Angeles Phoenix Seattle
Copyright 2012 by Eric Weule
Kindle Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously, and any resemblance to real life is entirely
coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned,
or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
ASIN: B006YK7BE8
BALLERINA BLUES PUBLISHING
White
Spiral
The
Interview
The
Thoughtful
Spot
Repression
For Kathy and Stu,
Words are not enough, but here's 90,000 of them dedicated to the two
of you.
Table
of
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
I DO NOT GET TATTOOS. I do not understand shaved heads and goatees. I
am not a fan of
Dickies
shorts as a fashion trend. I
have no patience for stupid, obnoxious drunk people. The guy was
batting a big fat zero in my book before he ever opened his mouth.
“What’s up party people?” His voice was loud and
his words were slurred. “I am fuckin’ famished!”
I took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I glanced over at the family
of four finishing their meal. The two boys were laughing in surprise.
I could hear them thinking,
He
said
fuckin
’.
That
is
so
cool
!
Dad was waiting for the guy to sit down,
then he was going to grab his family and bolt. Mom looked like she
was going to say something.
I glanced to my left. Yolanda stood with the cooks. None of them
looked happy about their newest customer.
I checked on the couple. The boy had found a reason to look into his
girlfriend’s eyes.
I waited.
“You,” he said to Yolanda. “I’ll take a beer
and some tacos. Pronto.” He favored all of us with a big
smile, then stumbled over to the table closest to the register. It
was a strategic choice. Yolanda wouldn’t be able to do her job
without walking by him every time.
Mom said, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so
rude.”
“I’d appreciate it if you minded your own business,”
he shot back. “Just having a little fun.”
Dad reached across the table and grabbed Mom’s hand.
There was a pause. The moment stretched. Yolanda broke the silence by
saying, “I’ll get your check.”
The drunkard tipped back in his chair, put his hands on the table,
and yelled, “Beer!”
I made eye contact.
“What?” he asked with drunken menace.
I popped a chip in my mouth. Chewed. Thought about it. Decided it
wasn’t my problem, but I felt bad for the two young boys.
I said, “Don’t cuss in front of the kids.”
“Fuck you.”
I smiled, nodded, popped another chip in my mouth.
Yolanda walked by him with the promised check. He reached out and
grabbed her ass. She jerked away.
Dad said, “Hey.” I gave him a respect point.
“Hey, what?”
Dad didn’t say anything. I took the point back.
Yolanda reached their table. “I’m very sorry. Don’t
worry about the bill. I’ll take care of it.”
Dad started to protest, but it was weak. Mom said, “You should
call the police. He is obviously drunk.”
“Fuckin’ A, right!” he yelled.
“It’s OK,” said Yolanda.
He looked at me. “What’s your problem, old man?”
My problem was I was hot. Tired. I had not seen Frankie in much, much
too long. That was a short list of my problems. This guy was not my
problem. This situation was not my problem. Still, it might take some
of the edge off. So I said, “Just wondering how someone so
obviously stupid manages to exist in our enlightened society. You
should go back to where you came from. Back to the other trailer
trash.”