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“You can’t possibly expect me to believe that?” I asked him as I raised my drink to my mouth. The cold, wet ice quickly stifled any other comment I could potentially regret. The glass clanked as I set it down. Danny had noticed this before I had it seemed.
“Two more when you get a chance,” he murmured to the bartender. After all, it was the least he could do, he knew that.
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She usually hated contradicting herself, but knew it was vital in her decision making process. In most cases, she would use this to her advantage. When faced with a decision, even if she knew the ‘right’ and most logical way to solve it, she would always pose an alternative. Ultimately, this tactic of hers would make the ‘right’
seem that much more logical. She would prompt herself with the two or more ways of how to deal with the scenario, the ‘incorrect’ first, and the ‘correct’ last, always settling for the latter of the two. Even though it was the latter of the two that she knew was the most ‘right’ and instinctual in the first place.
Marie drank plain coffee, never espresso, and never a latte or cappuccino. Coffee in this instance, to her, was always just right. Instinctual. It seemed a little much, almost gaudy, for her to resort to another. She felt it was these sort of unnecessary upgrades in life, which she hardly deserved or wanted. It was subtle changes like these that would only bring about more subtle change, ultimately leading to a more dramatic change in general, and she just wasn’t interested in that right now at this point in her life. It was extravagance like this that she felt was responsible for the current state of the world. “After all, it’s just coffee.” she’d remind herself. And she wanted it to remain that way. Nothing more, nothing less.
The worst to her was when the barista would assume she wanted more than coffee. “What can I get started for you ma’am?” the barista would say. “Started? It should be ready and awaiting me?” she thought. “Something besides coffee? I mean, do I seem like that kind of person?” she’d ask herself. She had no idea as to what gave way to this? She didn’t dress or act the part for any other, only coffee. At least she assumed.
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“I earned it.” he thought. “I earned it, and I owe it to myself.” He had to convince himself of this with most everything, always. He couldn’t just treat himself to something. He couldn’t just do a little
something special for himself here and there. There was always a guilt hanging over him. He could be filling up his car with gas and decide to get himself a candy bar while paying inside. As soon as
the transaction finished, his mood would swing, and that’s when the questioning starts.
“A candy bar? Really Greg? Is it not enough that you bought gas for your car? Or even the fact alone that you have a car, is this not enough? When will this end?” By the time he got to the car,
he couldn’t bring himself to open the damn thing, and would end up leaving it to melt. This would always bring him down a little, even if he defeated the urge, and didn’t give in to one of these many
luxuries. He could never pat himself on the back and say, “Good job my friend.”
Withdrawing money from the bank was also no easy task. Even though it was his money, and this time he truly did earn it, and owed it to himself. There was really no solving this problem he had.
Anytime he would sit and really think through the whole thing, he would end up right where he started. It was circular, there was never any progress.
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Some loved her, some hated her, and few were ambivalent about her. She knew this though, this is what gave her the upper hand. At this point in her life, she was fine with this, and almost preferred it that way. “It’s a thin line between love and hate. And I never walk that line.” she’d state, laughing, lightly tossing herself forward and back. This was a perfect example of something she’d say, in a group, that would usually lead to this love, or hate of her. It was comments like these that got her where she is now, and still, she knew this. She was in control.
You never saw her alone, always in company. And on the occasion you did happen upon her and she was alone, she was of course on her way to meet so and so at somewhere here or there. I didn’t understand how she did it? I knew a lot of people like that, people that could draw a crowd wherever they went. People that seemed to always have something to say about something, and more importantly an audience that wanted to hear what they had to say about that something. But these people were good people, well liked among most crowds, rightfully so. Sure they had there flaws, but nothing to get hung up about. Last winter was different. Her and I had grown somewhat fond of each other. We often ran in the same circles, the same crowds, so
naturally we’d find ourselves sharing conversations together with others. I loved this, because I actually felt a part of them. At times, she would even direct questions and comments to me, given me the chance to shine for a moment, and that felt good. On one occasion, at a Christmas party on the East side I got her, and the rest of the crowd, laughing pretty good. Now, I’m no comedian, and certainly not very creative when it came to humor, but I did know the right time to add a remark that was true, yet funny. Growing up, my parents always told me there was a right time and place for everything, and at this time and place, it was the right time for my jab at one of the servers who had just brought us a fresh round of drinks. He had this slight stutter, and when he would make his round to offer us a drink, he would say something like, “C-c-ca-can I, I o-o-offer youuu a a d-d-drdrink?”
I noticed this the first time he had come around, and the second. I had honed in and located my target. By the third time he came around with the drinks I was warmed up and ready. Most likely because I had a couple drinks in me at this point, and well, everyone, including me, was in good spirits.
As I saw him coming I geared up. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect either. We had all just finished up a light discussion on just what we thought about Roger’s Christmas party this year. It was just in time for the server to pop around the corner and ask us, “C-c-ca-can I, I o-o-offer youuu a a d-d-dr-drink?” Everyone heard him, but I put on like I hadn’t, looked around with my brow raised and replied back, “Buh de - buh de - buh de buh - what was that folks?” in my best Porky Pig cartoon impression. As soon as I finished and looked up at my little audience, they had already begun laughing. They reached for a fresh drink while the server just rolled his eyes, I’m sure it was nothing new to him. I felt a little bad, but when I heard all that laughter, even coming from her, it was like music to my ears. It was worth it to me, and to remedy any hard feelings I had on myself, after he left, I summed it up by saying, “Poor guy gets stuck with a stutter like that, man, that’s too bad. I mean, he really didn’t even have to say a word! He has a tray of drinks, and a tuxedo on...we know the drill!” And still more laughter...
As the laughter died off, she lifted her brimming martini glass up to her mouth for the first drink and was bumped a bit from the fellow next to her, who immediately apologized. It spilled a little down her chin and the front of her blouse, and everyone watched to see how she’d respond. This is when I knew I could lighten the mood, and add another ‘right time right place’ comment to the scenario. “Oh, does somebody have a drinking problem?” I asked, grinning, dripping with sarcasm. I then lifted my glass to take a smooth and perfect drink, and thats when it started again, everyone was laughing. Even she was laughing, I was really on a roll here. It quickly was brought to an end by the clanking of a knife on a glass, Roger was going to make a toast.
Our group fell apart shortly after, and I found myself wandering the crowd, feeling good. I had ended on a high note, and wanted to stay there. I wouldn’t dare try to top what I had just done. I just made my rounds, smiling and nodding to a few familiar faces. I watched her from a distance. She had the usual crowd around her, and she was working it. She was something else. With my recent performance, I felt I could relate to her a little. I had been bitten, I tasted the sweet taste of social success, and I wanted more. I grabbed my drink and waltzed towards her and her little party, assuming I would add some life to it as well. As I made my way
over, the server had just left their group, giving them a fresh round of brimming glasses. He scowled at me as he walked past, not even offering me a drink, but I didn’t blame him. I was about ten feet away, when I heard it...
“Oh dear, does someone have a drinking problem?” She said to one of the people in her circle who just let a big dribble run down their chin. She grinned, just like I had, with the same inflection and everything. I heard and watched all the laughter, and continued making my way to the group, wearing a smile, brushing it off. I found an open spot in the circle and nodded to everyone, raising my glass slightly as a greeting. I looked at her, and she looked at me, we smiled, and she didn’t say a word. It was like nothing happened? Not even skipping a beat, she moved right a long to some more chatter regarding Richard’s party.
I was appalled. More surprised than angry, nothing to make a scene about though. That would be too awkward and embarrassing, for me more than her. I knew she had to have seen me, I appeared right after delivery, felt it’s impact, and was there during it’s final stages. I watched the whole thing go down. One guy standing there even repeated it, shaking his head and still laughing. She could have easily credited me somehow, or at least made up for it by including me or saying something nice to me, maybe giving me
a nice introduction to the group, but instead, nothing.
Months had passed, and I slowly grew more and more upset to this, eventually becoming a little angry and put off. How could she do this to me? We didn’t run in the same crowd like we’d used to, I made efforts to avoid this, even went out of my way. And still, nearly a year later, I see her, and she’s still got it. I liked accrediting myself to her success. I know it wasn’t much, but it was something. It’s the little things like that, they all add up.
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WILKE DAIRY CO.
“I like to think that Wilke Dairy Company is a good, family company. I give Wilke, and the family, the benefit of the doubt. I figure they probably began in the 1950’s and were off to a good start. Dairy seemed popular then, it was at it’s peak. They made their logo, classic, relevant of the times, and had it painted on all their trucks. The trucks looked great, painted all yellow, with red, white and blue lettering. You can still see the originals driving around to this day. They hired the drivers, outfitting them in the milkman outfits, relevant to the times as well, the all white outfit. It had their logo embroidered on the right chest and a pocket on the left. On any given day, you can see them parked in front of restaurants, coffee shops, and small grocery stores.”
The Wilke’s live in Shorewood, Wisconsin, right outside of Milwaukee where I was living at the time. I met Ann Wilke at a party one night with some friends, unaware at the time that she was part of the Wilke family. Ann was a nursing student at University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, UWM. She was a wholesome girl, midwestern, respectable and well-liked among most crowds. She had long brown hair, a little wavy at times. She was very clean, herself and her environments. She has class, not style, equally beautiful inside, as out. She felt so comfortable, so warm. I admired her. It made sense that we would get a long.
We spent a lot of time together that year, especially during the winter. We would sit in the basement of her house in Shorewood and just kiss. The basement was perfect, completely personalized with lots of wood featured throughout. There was furniture scattered about, creating these sort of nooks or spaces, each devoted to a different kind of hanging out. We spent most of the time in the northeast corner of the basement, where there was a couch and a love seat around a television and coffee table. There was a large, glass door that went out to their back patio. From where we sat, you could see Lake Michigan out the windows. The moon would reflect on the lake, the snow would fall, slowly, gathering in the yard. Time was passing, and I couldn’t think of any other way as to how I wanted to spend those nights.