almost okay

SHERMAN ON THE JOB

I know I'm gonna get some shit for this, but Oklahoma City is a pit. And that's coming from somebody who lives in Detroit.

I was in town to do a quick 'job', (more on that later), flew in on Sunday, flew back out on Tuesday, Southwest Airlines into Will Rogers World Airport, putting an easy eight grand plus expenses in my pocket for three days' worth of my time. Sounds good in theory, right? Wrong. First off, it should be called Will Rogers Third World Airport. After landing in the middle of a cornfield, I picked up my rental car and headed east towards the Ramada on 66th Street. Traffic was sparse and I made good time as I drove over the crumbling highway. I was at the desk of the run-down hotel by 9:45 pm local time.

“Can I buy beer in Oklahoma on Sunday?” I asked the clerk at the desk - a pretty girl, blond hair, gray eyes, alabaster skin with a series of thin scars crossing her face, as though she were in a car wreck or her boyfriend had cut her up for cheating on him. I kept thinking of that whore in 'Unforgiven'.

“You can,” she said with a smile, but it's 3.2 beer and you have to go to the convenience store across the street.” She pointed towards the lobby door. “There's a sports bar right behind us, though.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “It'll be right across from your room. You can't miss it.”

“Walking distance?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said.

“How's the food there?” I asked.

“It's good,” she said without much conviction. “It is a sports bar, though.”

“That sounds fine,” I said. “I need to get something to eat anyway.”

I found my room, number 113. The place was a dump and if it hadn't said 'Ramada' on the sign out front, it looked to me like the kind of place I'd be able to get some crack from the guy who paid by the week and lived upstairs. Sure enough, there was Zeke's, the sports bar with its green neon sign blazing against the night sky right across the way from my door, which opened out onto the southern side of the hotel's parking lot. I could hear traffic zooming by on the I-35 just a stone's toss away. It was hot and muggy, still in the upper eighties nearly an hour after dark. I dragged my bags inside, set the air conditioner on 'HIGH', plugged in my laptop and checked my email to confirm my target. After switching on the TV for safety noise, I headed for the bar and the promise of ice cold beer.

Zeke's parking lot was nearly empty. It was Sunday night after all, but I expected a few more cars. With the hotel so close, I guessed some of the drinkers must be hoofing it. At the door I saw a sign that read: “DRESS CODE STRICTLY ENFORCED! MEN: SHIRTS WITH SLEEVES MUST BE WORN, NO TANK TOPS, WIFE BEATERS, ETC...” I stopped right there and realized I was wearing a sleeveless tee. I looked into the bar and it didn't look like anything special, was very dark and most of the half-dozen or so drinkers were men, a couple of them tattooed Mexicans, all of whom were wearing tee shirts. I thought about either going in and forcing somebody to tell me I had to leave or going back to my room and changing shirts. But I was too tired from my bitch of a flight to do either...from Detroit to Chicago Midway, change planes wait two hours... through St. Louis then to Oklahoma, all the flights with full cabins and so many screaming brats it felt like I was working in a fucking day care center.

I decided that 3.2 beer and fast food would have to do. It would be good to have a clear head until I'd finished the work anyway. I walked back to the rental car and drove it over to the 7-11, picked up a six-pack of 16 oz. Milwaukee's Best for $3.99 figuring that even if it was only 3.2% alcohol I'd still get a four-beer buzz if I drank it fast, then crossed the street for a Chicken Cordon Blah at Arby's.

I fell asleep to a Star Trek rerun a few hours later, the one where Kirk kisses Uhura while they're dressed in Roman togas.

The next morning I showered, made coffee in the room and checked the traffic report. No accidents. I grabbed my gear and went to the lobby for a banana and some more coffee. It was still hot out and the forecast was calling for midday thunderstorms. The air felt like I was walking through a scummy pond up to my neck in dirty water.

The storms blew through quickly just after noon, cut power twice for a few minutes each time as the sky turned black as midnight, the wind picked up hard and thunderclaps boomed while lightning struck hot white forks into the ground. It didn't really affect my day though. The target went down easy and early. That left the afternoon with nothing to do. I called my contact and punched out on the 'job', then drove back to the hotel where I treated myself to an hour-long nap. I dreamed that I was Captain of the Enterprise and that Uhura and I were doing a little more than kissing, if you know what I mean.

When I woke up I was horny and only vaguely hungry. There was one can of the 3.2 beer left from the night before so I popped the top and watched 'No Reservations' on the travel channel. A little after six I headed out to explore the neighborhood, find some real beer and get some food, not necessarily in that order. I stopped at the first liquor store I found, picked up a six pack of warm Tecate and a pint of Cabo Wabo. Once outside, I opened the tequila, took a quick hit, then stowed everything in the trunk.

As I drove along Shields Blvd. between 66th and 59th I saw nothing that looked particularly promising and some places that looked downright scary, even in daylight. There were neighborhoods with houses that looked like they were barely standing and I kept wondering how they even made it through the winds of earlier in the day. Broken down cars were everywhere... in parking lots, at roadside and on blocks in driveways. The pavement on all the roads was beat to shit, crumbling and heaving up chunks of asphalt. I came across a slow freight train crossing 59th, made a quick right onto a sidestreet to turn around. The dirt road was wet, with dark shallow puddles in places and there were diamond-shaped fluorescent orange traffic signs set up temporarily that read: FRESH OIL. I wasn't even sure what that meant, but I tried to avoid the puddles when I made a U-turn just in case it was something besides water. I didn't need any hassle when it was time to turn the car in.

There were pumping jacks pulling oil out of the dusty ground nearly everywhere I drove, standing singly and in pairs or groups, some situated right next to houses and near the road. Many of the businesses along the way sported amateurishly painted signs fabricated from whatever piece of shit wood that the proprietor had laying around, some of the signs barely readable, quite a few for restaurants, mostly Mexican ones.

As I drove back up 59th I saw a shapely brunette walking with difficulty on high heels through grass near the ditch that ran parallel to the road. There were no sidewalks in that part of town. I took in the view from behind as she stumbled along, carefully picking her way as she looked down, tight mini skirt, big ass and bare brown legs, handbag hanging from her hooked elbow. I figured she was a hooker, slowed and rolled down the window. “Hey, you need a ride?” I asked.

“Chure, baby,” she said, smiling as she approached the car. I hit the switch and unlocked the door.

Once she was inside I realized that if I had seen her coming instead of going I might have made a different decision, but what the fuck? Forty dollars later I wasn't horny anymore.

“You hungry?” I asked her. Turns out her name was Maria.

“Chure I'm 'ohngry,” said Maria.

We drove through Taco Mayo, got some chicken burritos with rice and beans, parked the car in a lot next to a boarded up business and ate. Maria ate faster than I did, burped a couple times. I got the tequila from the trunk and we took turns hitting it until there was only a shot left.

“It's all yours,” I said, handing her the bottle. She stuck it in her purse.

“Gracias, baby,” said Maria. “J'ou can drop me 'ere,” she said, and got out of the car. As I was driving away, Maria was already walking in the other direction, her big ass bouncing to the beat of the music on the radio.

On the way back to the hotel I realized that all I had was warm beer to drink, so I stopped at a shabby party store and picked up a tall boy to drink while the Tecates were on ice. “Dolluh fohty nine,” said the Chinese guy at the counter. I paid him in pocket change, counting out nine pennies. As I was leaving a young guy came in, obviously drunk and badly in need of a shave and a shower.

“Can...canneye trade thish back...fhor shum muhney h'and then...?” he was saying to the Chinese guy, holding up a brown bag with what looked to be an unopened can of beer in it. I could hear the Chinese guy saying 'No' as the door swung closed behind me.

“Hey, bro'” I turned to look and there was a twenty-something black kid approaching me as I put the beer in the trunk. “Can you spare fitty cent?”

“No, man,” I said. “Sorry.”

Back in my room I drank the tall boy and watched all the 'No Reservations' I could take while the Tecate chilled. They were running some sort of marathon of past episodes, and Anthony Bourdain, charming prick that he is, is best when taken in small doses. Most people are I guess, even me. I finished off the six-pack as Conan came on and then passed out.

The path back to the airport the next morning was the same one I came in on. The same crumbling roads... more pumping jacks... a detour for construction and I was finally in the air...through Kansas City this time...again to Midway, change planes...the flight was late due to strong headwinds...then to Metro...again with the screaming brats...all the while burping up the sausage and biscuits and gravy that I'd eaten for breakfast at the hotel. By the time we had landed my nerves were shot.

I hit the ground drinking. After picking up my truck at the EZ Park, I drove straight to a strip club just up Middlebelt and had one, then called Louis, who was too fucking busy to join me.

“Okay, then you bastard,” I said to him. “I guess I'll just have to drink alone.”

And I did. Except for all the topless, brown-skinned girls, of course.

God, it's good to be home.