Another potentially wonderful weekend crushed by Fortuna.
Friday around 1:30, I head down to the lone cafe in our building for a late lunch. It is a decent size establishment with some exotic items on the menu as well as American favorites. The owner is is Russian and the head cook is Cuban and they have a wonderful Jerk Chicken sandwich. Виктор (I call him Vic) talks me into trying the Friday lunch special. I honestly forgot the name of the dish, but it's main ingredients are Mexican ham and oysters tucked inside a pita pocket.
After ordering at the counter, I find a seat in the spacious cafe and began reading a newspaper left behind by the previous diner. A few minutes into a riveting article on Kevin Keegan (it was London paper), I looked up and saw Angela.
Angela and I worked in the same organization at Dell eight years ago. For a few months, we sat across the aisle from each other (cubicle city) and we were pretty friendly with each other as well, but nothing more than flirting, as she was married. I lost track of her after I was laid off (February 15th, 2001 @ 10:32 AM) and I think I saw her once since then at Dave and Busters.
I invite her to join me at my table and we catch up on each others lives. She now works on the 2nd floor of my building for a mortgage broker AND she is no longer married. The conversation flows easily as I get caught up in an excursive diatribe, as I am want to do when excessively stimulated by a female. Before we realize it, its 3:00 and Виктор wants to close his cafe.
Angela rather easily talks me into ditching work and finding a bar to continue our reunion, of sorts. After clearing it with her boss, Angela and I meet at the Jollyville Tavern. Once again, I am forsaking my vow of sobriety in this month of January. She orders two Grey Goose martinis while I am in the restroom. Long time readers will recall my preference is for bourbon, but what the heck!
Midway through the cocktail, I feel an uncertain rumbling and tremor in my body. Then it became very certain as I staggered and tripped my way back to the men's room, vomit spewing from my mouth and nose.
What is it about Mexican ham, oysters and vodka that would cause that? I cradled the crusty commode for several minutes before I was able to get up. And then, a repeat performance. And another.
I then am finally able to leave the bathroom and return to the bar. Angela is gone. I look up at the clock behind the bartender and see its nearly 5:00. I was in there over an hour. I manage to make it back home and go to bed.
I woke up the next day (Saturday) and felt much better, but had to work all day to get caught up on the work I avoided Friday afternoon.
