Kaclink. The empties outnumbered the unopened beer in the case about two to one. The noise from the video games was being drowned out by two very loud drunks and a neglected stereo set to 10 and forgotten. Guys Night In, is what this was called, but when there’s no Girls to go with the Guys, labeling the night was an exercise in wasting time.
“Holy shhh*hick*it, I’m STARVING. Get me the phonebook. GET ME THE PHONEBOOK. Imma get us something to EAT up in this bi*hick*tch.”
Aaron ran over to the kitchen table where the phonebook lived, along with empty takeout containers, old college textbooks, a pile of ketchup packets, and unfolded, wrinkly t-shirts, and threw it at the back of Ian’s head.
“Duuuuude. Yes. Food me. Grub me.”
Ian flipped frantically back and forth throughout the whole book, looking for anything that sounded like they might have a kitchen. Grabbing the phone that hid under dirty socks and Canadian Tire money, he concentrated as hard as he could at the numbers and hit all the right ones, after the third try.
“Hello. Pete’s Pizza. May I help you?”
“Hello? Food guy? DO YOU HAVE BURRITOS? Do. You. Have… burritos?”
“Um, no sir. Pete’s Pizza. We have pi…”
“Yeah, we’ll take five, no six, no…HEY, HOW MANY BURRITOS YOU WANT? I’m in for five and I’m sure as SHIT ain’t sharing! … Give me ten of them, dude. How much?”
“We only have pizza, sir. Would you like pizza?”
“Does your pizza taste like burritos?”
“Can you do a special *hick* order?”
“Dude, the dude hung up on me! Imma call ’em back.”
Ian concentrated on the numbers on the phone again, his head in a slow bob.
“Thank you for calling Pete’s Pizza. We’re unable to answer your call right now. Please try again shortly.” BEEEEEP.
“Yeah, hi, I’d like ten burritos and maybe some of them chili cheese fries with the meat. MEEEEEAT. Call me back at … DUDE, WHAT’S THE NUMBER UP IN THIS SUMBITCH? Whatever, you can prolly see the number on your phone. Call me back and set me up with some chow, buddy.”
Ian hung up, confident that they were only minutes away from bellies full of street-quality Mexican food. After a full day and night of marathon gaming with nary a break for anything more than to crack open another beer, the two of them would have literally Segaled a boar, cleaned it with their bare hands and roasted it on a spit. If, you know, they could do it all from the comfort of their La-Z-Boys.
“He’ll call back. If he wants my money he will. Or I’ll just take my money somewhere else. I’ll friggen do it, too. I don’t even care. I can get my burritos someplace else, man. He’ll call back, ’cause he’s a good guy. I could just tell, you know? Like, he was a dude who knows that when a guy needs some food, you just gotta give that guy some food, you know? Like, ‘Give the man some food! He’s hungry! He’s cool. He’ll call back. And then? WE EAT, ASSHOLES!”
“Wait, what? You ordered assholes? I don’t know if I’m that hungry, man.”
“What? No! YOU’RE the asshole and we are going to eat the burritos that Pete is gonna make us. Pete is the MAN and he can make the SHIT outta some burritos.” *hick*
The two got themselves in an unintentional stare brought on by boredom, exhaustion, and a blood alcohol level not even legal in Angola. Aaron looked straight ahead at the suspended picture of their game on pause while Ian watched the phone.
Aaron shook himself out of it first. “Dude. Pete’s not calling back. Who the hell does he think he is? We’re starving here. You know what? Screw that guy, man. Call someone else.”
“No, you know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna go down there and tell Pete to go screw himself. With a burrito. And then we’re gonna get some burritos some place else and then Pete’s gonna wish he called us back.”
“Let’s do it. Goddamn Pete.”
Despite the nearly three mile walk from Aaron’s apartment to Pete’s Pizza, Aaron and Ian made fairly good time, especially given that they started off in the exact opposite direction and circled around twice before they stopped to ask directions from a cabbie they flagged over. When the cab driver started to tell them they were about 15 full blocks too far south, they gave up and hopped in. What they lacked in enough actual cash to pay the cab driver, they made up for in pissing him off so much with their LOUD DRUNK VOICES talking about burritos and some guy named Pete and he was just glad to have them out of his car.
The two of them stood on the sidewalk in front of Pete’s Pizza for a few minutes, looking up and down the street, at their watches, and at the sign dangling in the door window.
“What the hell is this? It’s closed? What time is it?”
“I don’t know, man, like two or three or some shit. I can’t friggen see out here. Wait. Pete’s Pizza? Are you sure this is where you called, dude?”
“Yeah! Pete’s! We’s gonna get us some burritos, son! HEY PETE! YOU IN THERE? WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME BACK? OPEN UP! PLEEEEEEEASE?”
“Pizza, dude. Pete’s Pizza. PETE’S PIZZA, YOU IDIOT.”
“I don’t get it.”
Without another word, Ian turned on his heels and started walking away, head down and shaking, mumbling to himself.
“Goddamn it. I need to find me some smarter friends.”
“WHAT?” Aaron yelled. “I DON’T GET IT.”
Why didn’t you call me back?
This is written so far out of my comfort zone. I’m used to writing very serious, very morose fiction, but I needed to lighten up this week. I have no idea if I were successful or not, but I didn’t want to write or read back anything heavy. And so I didn’t. Drunk dudes looking for some burritos. That’s about right.
I challenged xtinabosco with this: You open the prize in the cereal box and discover something shocking. This thing will undoubtedly change your life.