What Day Is This? Pt 2

We learn a few things about the layout of downtown Denver through trial and error, and finally find The Tattered Cover. It’s almost 8:00, the reading has been going on for nearly half an hour. We haven’t parked, yet, but we kick Sarah out of the car to go see if she can get in. She, after all, is the main reason we made the drive. Fortunately, even though she couldn’t get in the main room, the bookstore had a speaker outside so others could at least listen.

The event itself was pretty interesting. I did feel kinda old, everyone else I saw couldn’t have been more than 25, but it was still interesting. The author, Chuck Palahniuk, was still reading from his book when we got there. Sheila left for the restroom while I made myself comfortable on the thin green carpet. The bookstore was originally in a different location, it had moved a year or two ago. The carpet must have had sentimental value, because I’m almost positive it was the same one. I’ve had camisoles that were thicker. Just the same, I managed to sit on the floor, accompanied the crisped rice sound of my knees. Getting older sucks. Sheila managed to get lost around the magazines (big surprise) and eventually found her way back up to the event. She brought two up with her, one called Geek and one called SFX, which is out of the UK. She wouldn’t let me read SFX, so I got stuck with Geek. Oh well. The author was interesting to listen to.

Finally, we leave. Sarah and I have somehow managed to encourage each other into more and more obnoxious behavior. We blame it on hunger and fatigue and leave it at that. Sheila, keeping the cool head, declares that on future outings, she will bring Cheerios, teddy grahams, juice boxes and crayons and paper to keep us occupied. And a stick. Not sure, but I think we were getting on her nerves just a little, ‘cuz she kept saying it. I texted my cousin to ask where the diner she prefers was, and let her know why I was in Denver. She was upset, just so happens she loves that author, too. I wish I’d thought of saying something yesterday when it first occurred to me. Oh well. We get a little disoriented looking for the diner, finally spotting it on the corner. After realizing that what we spotted was actually a Burger King and the diner was the other way, we made a quick u-turn with the left-turn light. Sheila, apparently feeling completely out of sorts, is convinced the oncoming traffic is, well, oncoming, and cries out that the cars are following us, they’re getting closer. I can’t see out my window because her head is in the way, but in an effort to keep from getting killed, I speed up. In the turn. In my hightop rollerskate. Luckily, we didn’t roll over. Okay, we weren’t anywhere near rolling, but we could have. The oncoming traffic was not moving, naturally, they had a red light. I guess it was just her contribution to the confusion brought about by our old friends, hunger and fatigue.

At last, we made it to the diner. Sarah was quiet in the parking lot, self-conscious about how her laugh echoed through the skyscraper canyon, but that didn’t last long. The quiet, not the echo. Frankly, I like her laugh. It’s not afraid to be what it is. We got our table and continued our conversation/bickering. There were misunderstandings, because apparently, as the youngest member of our trio, Sarah is apparently half-deaf. She heard all sorts of things we weren’t actually saying. Ah well. The meal met my expectations, and appeared to exceed theirs. And our behavior wasn’t much different than they would see on a weekend, except we weren’t drinking. We were just being loud and obnoxious, unconsciously encouraging each other. We got a few hairy eyeballs, but nothing too serious.
Both Sarah and I were inspired. We had to record this event, the feelings and camaraderie, the very insanity we dealt with, all had to be noted. The only person who had pen and paper, though, was Sheila, who had no intention of remembering anything. Sarah and I wrapped up our notes, paid our checks and concluded our time in the diner with Sheila’s two jokes, one about a snail knocking on a door, and the other about a man walking on air. If I remember, I’ll tell you some time. They’re funnier than my statisticians hunting, but don’t tell her that.

What an evening. If any of us were working at the time, this wouldn’t have happened. Someone undoubtedly would have to get up in the morning, if not all. As it is, though, we are all gainfully unemployed, thanks to the crumbling subprime market, and lack of jobs in this city that pay a living wage. The ones that don’t won’t hire us because we’re overqualified, but that’s another story.

Totally gotta do this again!