The two of us fly from Juneau to Seattle. From Sea-Tac we hoof it to his cousins house. We are staying with his cousin and her girlfriend before we begin our drive back east. By the time we get to their condo it is almost dark. I'm starving. I have not been in a restaurant or any "establishment" for that matter in eight months. I have been in Alaska on an island that populates less than a hundred people. I hope I have something else besides Dickies and a sweatshirt to wear. I dig. I don't. When we are ready to leave, all four of us are pretty much wearing the same thing. We get in the car and start driving. STOP! Oh my god, oh my god! I haven't been in a car in eight months. These people are driving like maniacs! As we drive out of the parking lot, I grasp the back of the drivers seat. I peek over the drivers shoulder and see that we are going 31mph. It feels like we are going at least 65. Fucking speedometer must be broken. I can't shake this roller coaster sensation. We pull up to the bar. Thank god. I get out of the car and try and compose myself. I'm not hungry anymore. I need a drink.
We meet our friend, Arlo from the cannery. A familiar face. I'm a little more at ease now. We walk into the bar and sit at a table. The whole place is blue. Everything including myself take on the color of the bar. We order drinks. They ask for everyone's ID. I'm 18 so I order a coke but I come prepared. I drink half my coke and then discretely fill the rest of my glass with bourbon that I carry in my Nalgene bottle everywhere. We drink and tell stories of our adventures in Alaska. I'm tired. I lazily walk back to the bathrooms. I wash my hands and look in the mirror. I'm about to turn around to open a stall door but something catches my eye. Work boots. Than I see another pair of mens shoes facing these work boots. Oh shit- am i in the wrong bathroom? I'm in the god damn MENS room. All of the sudden it was like someone pulled ear plugs out of my ears. How the hell didn't I notice this before? The stall is shaking and and their heavy breathing is making me feel like I'm being raped. I walk out of the bathroom to go to the ladies room and as I pull the door open - I notice I am in the ladies room. Great! My bourbon filled bladder is about to explode. I walk back to the table to explain my predicament. Mid-explanation, Melanie bolts toward the restrooms. It's a straight shot from our table. We watch her march. Her every step is made with great intention. She's going back there to kick some ass and escort them out of to their slightly missed destination. Damn! and thank you. I finish telling my boot knocking story and Melanie sits back down. She looks like hell. Melanie says "I kicked the fucking door in and my girlfriend is making out with some dude." Seven years in a relationship and this is what she gets. I'm drunk and ready to go home. Melanie's girlfriend and dude walk outside the bar. Finally, I can pee. We walk out of the bar and there stands hooker girl waiting to apologize. They start screaming and we say goodbye and take the bus back to the condo. We pack our bags, walk back to the airport and wait till morning for our car. If she would have just worn heels maybe the whole night would have been different.
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