My Friend Told Me This Story Pt. 1

I’m not driving. I’m walking. Wasn’t worried about my wine consump- tion, this was a financial decision.

It’s 6pm.

I walk out of my door. I take a deep breath before looking under my door- mat. Fuck. My rent check is gone, which means I have $12 bucks in my account to play with, $12 bucks to take an Uber back if my Citizen app tells me something I don’t like.

My roommate opens the tiny peephole window as he notices my body language change.

RM: Checks gone?

I can see the beer diet in his eyes. He’s hungry too. We don’t do well when the rent gets taken out randomly after it’s due. I look at him, he looks back at me. It’s up to me tonight. It’s up to me to hunt and gather.

It’s a 16 minute walk. And I haven’t left my porch yet. I’m waiting on my neighbor to move their car so I can pull the green trash cans back to the side of the house. I like to bite my nails before because the hand sanitizer I use makes them taste like poison. I smile my neighbors off, they chuckle at me, not because I ever made a joke to them. They lost respect for me when they watched me through the window drink the wine from the bot- tle that I was gifting them for their Christmas party last month — I said a little bit of the cork got into the wine so I poured a little out. I thought we were close enough not to judge.

I’m one block away and my stomach is using profanity. I should’ve had a snack. But when you’re saving money your stomach will always have words for you. I do the same thing every time at these dinner parties... eat as much as I can tonight, give as many compliments as possible to the chef so they send me home with leftovers for my roommate to try. It is a great design but has not been tested when me and my roommate only have $22 bucks between the both of us.

I arrive. I stand across the street as I watch people walk in. A few new faces make me a bit nervous. But focus! I begin to smile knowing this dinner party is going to be a little bit different. There are more people than the last ones. Which means more food wasted. Focus is needed so I can calculate portion sizes, get people thinking of other things than food so I can — look this is not stealing because it doesn’t feel like Karma is go- ing to call me after. Karma might text me, but this crime isn’t call worthy.

KNOCK KNOCK

Kendall opens the door. I get no real greeting because there’s about 5 of us at the door. She’s the host and she will never not make that clear. I squeeze through as she gives people cheek kisses. I’m not here to socialize, it’s time to work.

I walk directly to the bar — I close my eyes, take a deep breath and grind my teeth... something I do before I feel like I am about to embarrass my mother with my actions from afar. I go into my pocket. I take out the folded bag I had stored — I twist wine bottles around to see the labels — I’m looking for a cabernet. There you are... I furtively put the bottle in the bag.

Me: Kendall! Where should I put this?

Kendall: Right behind you, you never come empty handed.

Okay that worked. Shit! You call that “Playing with house money.” Like I said it’s not stealing! I never really had possession. I pop a bottle. Not the one I brought. I walk around topping peoples glasses off beginning my diversion. I go from conversation to conversation ending all of them with gauging everyone’s level of hunger. Seems like the right side of the room ate before they came and really just wants to socialize with appe- tizer sized portions — and the other side of the room is looking forward to what’s being catered — — SHIT!! Hearing the word catered bothered me a bit. They never cater, they always cook. I look over to see Kendalls mom in pj’s, she is usually in the kitchen busting out samples for us to try by now. This is going to be a little tough because I know they did a head count before they ordered. So the portions might be calculated?? When her mom cooks, you know she’s not professional so sometimes she over does it, or some people don’t like it... which is usually perfect for me, I don’t eat for pleasure only for fuel. Especially when the rent check is not under the mat.

Kendall makes a toast off to the side as the food comes out. I try to care about Kendall’s words but I can’t stop doing the mental math for the serv- ings per person. I have a plate full of prosciutto that’s been holding me over. The food smells good, honestly great... garlic herb chicken for pro- tein. Kous kous. Pasta. And something else not sure what it is.

Bathrooms are full with people hitting the last bit of their vapes before dinner is served. I wash my hands in the kitchen. I wanted to get a eye on where the tupperware is, if any. Clocked it. Top right in the clear cab- inet. Perfect. You can almost guess the income of families if they either have the hand soap next to the hand lotion and if the trash can looks like a fucking drawer — Kendall has both. Money doesn’t lack around here hence the random Tuesday night dinners.

I am on my second plate. I am on my third plate I mean... conversation is flowing. People eat but talk a bunch barely touching their food. My smile becomes permanent as I just think about the food hitting me and my roommates stomach for the next few days. I stand up and make a toast.

ME: To good people. Good food. More food. And good wine.

Kendall: I can eat and drink to that! Well said!

SHIT!! Off Kendall’s comment everyone begins to eat and drink their wine as if the plate had a meeting to go to. WTF, slow down!! Everyone slow down!! I look over to the food set up, people are already getting sec- onds. What the hell did that toast do?? Did I cast hunger spell or some- thing? I look to backyard. Some kids finish a joint and ash it into the plants. They look hungry. I calculate 5 maybe 8 more full plates available. I have to do something because I am not getting this food naturally. Sur- vival of the fittest. Please forgive me momma.

I walk into the kitchen. Frantic. And a bit tipsy. I go under the sink grab- bing a brown trader joe’s bag — I look to grab the tupperware — They are sitting on the counter with cake in them. SHIT!! I like cake but I need food. My roommate doesn’t need fucking cake!

I return to my seat with a new plan. Under my seat I have a bag and some paper plates. When no one is looking I am going to make some plates, put them in the bag and get the hell out of here. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and grind my teeth.

DING DING DING!!

Everyone gasps at the same time!!!! Wtf is going on?? Everyone is look- ing at their phones at something insane I’m guessing. No time to guess. Pack!!! I start packing food like I have a name tag on.

Kendall: Man in white walking around the neighborhood going into peo- ples back yards. Says Citizen app.

Thank god!

Oh man. The fucking Citizen app. People begin to get up, even Kendall seems like she is leaving. I hesitate to call the Uber. I can really have it all tonight. Food. Wine. My $12 bucks. I down my wine. Pour more. Down it again.

Kendall: Hey if you guys want any leftovers go ahead, you guys should go home it’s not safe here, I guess.

See! It’s not stealing.

I hop out of the Uber and walk up to my door. My roommate comes be- hind me, he’s wearing a white coat. He has some loose veggies in his hand as if they were ripped from someone’s garden. The fucking Citizen app!

RM: I got stuff to make a salad!

Me: I got some protein!

We go inside the house.

Cliff L. Powell - I think my friend told me this story