Three Stupid Stories (Part 3)

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[Ed. Note: The third and final installment of "Three Stupid Stories From Faber's Stupid Life: The Drunkard Chronicles". -Alex]

You're Kind of Freaking Me out Lonnie

My third tale has to do with a strange little man named Lonnie. I worked with Lonnie, and around the office, he seemed fine. The awful truth was a great deal different than it appeared, Lonnie was not fine? not fine at all.

Early in our relationship at work, I noticed that Lonnie often smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. In a way, I figured Lonnie had it rough; he had long greasy black hair that mulleted his otherwise balding head. I guess the closest celebrity I could link him to would be an aging Ronnie James Dio. I'd go down to see where an order was(my job at the time) and invariably Lonnie would greet me with smartassery and we would shoot the shit for a while, I liked him, I thought he had cool tastes in music and I admired his ability to close down Rascal's bar every night (the local patchouli smelling joint).

I thought it would be bad to see Lonnie out at the bar because I wasn't extremely fond of acquiring any of his living habits. Alas, it finally it happened, I saw Lonnie at Rascal's. Fat Rudy was playing, so I went down to drink Bombay Saphires and listen to some music. I entered Rascal's at about 10:15 that night, as soon as I walked in Lonnie gives me the drunken guy air guitar greeting. I really didn't know what to make of this, I mean, giving some of my closest buddies the air guitar salute is a rare thing. Everything has to be just right; you just don't make that kind of gesture with no irony attached. He was serious, the band hadn't taken the stage yet, and he was amped about some Stevie Ray Vaughn piping through the PA. Cool, I dig SRV, I'll even nod my head to him as if to say, "YES? THIS ROCKS!" However, giving a mere work acquaintance the air guitar it's not right. It was a grim look at things to come? a grim look indeed. As soon as I went to the bar to order the first drink of the night, Lonnie had my ear, "hey man how the fuck's it going? You come down here to slum it, fuck dude, I'm not pissed at ya." Pissed? Why would Lonnie be pissed at me? Finally, I found my buddies, and spend the majority of the show playing pool and avoiding Lonnie at any cost. He saw me a few times, but I usually gave him the slip right away. At one point he grabbed me for long enough to tell me that he would, "quit if they gave him shit for being late one more time." Of course, then they'd see, shipping and receiving would shut down and us office people would, "lose our fucking jobs."

As the show wound down, I was feeling pretty burnt from all the gin. Lonnie had to know what I was doing, "dude we gotta fuck'n party man. You smoke grass?" my grimacing response, "no dude, not any more" (fucking liar Faber!) Anyway, I convinced him that I was heading home, and all was good. In actuality, I was going to my good friend Ramza's apartment. Ramza always had the band over for drinks and various party favors post show, and it always turned out to be a nice meeting of minds.

As I entered the opium den that was Ramza's apartment, I saw the usual cliental, shook some hands and started nightcap portion of my evening. Then he walked over to me, Lonnie had heard of the party and was standing in front of me, "Dude, I thought you weren't into this stuff? Wow pretty private college kid smoking it up?" Awesome, I couldn't wait to have this conversation. I thought as quickly as possible, "I play ultimate with these guys. Um? first time I've been here." Fuck! I hate talking to this guy. He talks work, he talks work for forty-five minutes. I always go to after-bars to talk work and hang out with guys who look like Dio. This is great. At around 2:30, I finally leave? Lonnie calls me a pussy and my night is over?

From then on at work, Lonnie would make thinly veiled references to us "partying" in mixed company, and tell me stories about his night out every time I saw him. This went on until Lonnie was fired for showing up drunk to work.

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