Friday, May 8, 2015
And theres no stopping us right now.
Sam had a headache. A thick one, one borne of many beers and several whiskey's.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
I just space out.
Headquarters
'The loneliest moment in someones life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.'-F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby
Dave looked out onto the highway from the window of his office. So many cars, trucks, SUV's, going along about their various missions. Some going to work, others with different purposes, some drunk, some transporting large amounts of narcotics. He wondered sometimes how much drugs were being transported at a given time on the interstate, how many people were drunk. It had to be a decent amount, considering how many cars were on the road on a given time. And who really knows how good a driver these people are? What kind of real training goes into getting a license? He often supposed it was only sheer luck that allowed him to make the half hour commute to work everyday. It seemed so often that something would happen, when large tractor trailer trucks were bearing down on him as he approached the exit to F.R. Rogers headquarters, also when he was behind large trucks carrying logs or cars, or other large cargo. Sometimes he wished for it, to just weave in between the lanes and crash. It would be so easy too, much easier then continuing this vile existence much longer. Each time he came to work he felt soiled, each time he left even more so. He had 12 different stores in his district, gas stations, car washes, and one diner, and the one he got shit about the most was the diner. How the fuck am I supposed to oversee all of these other things, and keep and eye on the diner. Alex was supposed to do that. But they never blamed Alex. Never. Even though sales had gone down dramatically since he had become manager, even though labor costs had gone up, they had always blamed him. It was Dave's problem.
It was never Alex's fault. No matter how far down the sales went, no matter how much labor costs went up it was always Dave's fault. He had been the first one to vouch for the guy, so he was the first one to take the heat once he fucked up. It seemed unreal in some ways. He had hired Alex as a patsy, a scapegoat, someone who could be the one to answer if the diner fucked up, yet so far it had been the opposite, Alex fucked up, sales went down, yet he was the one to blame. It was as if Alex was some kind of Rasputin, who had could manipulate anyone into liking him, and who could do nothing wrong. It seemed to be that way, whenever something went wrong up there, it was his fault. Even though he had 10 different stores he was personally responsible for anything that went wrong at that one. It didn't matter that he had hired someone to specifically be in charge of that one location, it always fell on him. He had brought him into the company so it was his responsibility, and apparently anything he fucked up was his responsibility too.
Dave looked at his watch, it was a little past 5:30, time for a little shot of energy, he thought as he opened on the top drawer of his desk. He had started the day taking Xanax, then a few OxyContin's in the middle of the afternoon, but when he was here this long it was usually only booze that could get him through the rest of the day. The granddaddy of drugs, the one that had been around the longest, the one that was guaranteed to work. The days had been long the past few weeks, months, maybe, he hadn't checked. He would come in at 9 every morning and on a good day he would maybe get out at 7, but 10 was usually more usual. The days and weeks seemed to blend into one, he was home sometimes, he knew. He had a house, that much was certain, and also a wife, although he seemed to see her less and less. He could vaguely remember the last time he had seen her, she had said something about 'Divorce,' and 'Irreconcilable differences,' and how she was moving in with her sister in Wisconsin.
Dave took out the nip of whiskey and poured it in the plastic water cup he had on his desk. He looked around, making sure no one was about to come in. They seemed, to trust him, the company, big mistake, Dave thought as he threw back the plastic cup. He made a face as he downed the liquor, he wasn't used to it. He had had a few beers back in college, but he had never been much of a drinker, not like this. Now he needed it, needed it to get through the last few hours at work, needed it to function as a normal member of society. Sometimes this made it hard when the time came to leave the office. It was only a 15 minute drive up the highway from his office to where he lived, but sometimes that 15 minutes could seem like an hour. It was after a few of those perilous journey's home that Dave had realized that he needed a back-up plan if he got too fucked up at work, a contingency plan if things went to awry. Obviously passing out at his desk was not an option, the old standby, lest his co-workers were to somehow walk in and see him passed out at his desk. The answer had come to him readily, as had the answer to much of his other problems as of late. Drugs. Adderall in particular. It picked him up enough from all the other stuff that he was able to make it home. To focus on the road. He had found a dealer for it, something he had never had before, and illegal dealer of anything.
Dave was going up to the Diner the next day for a meeting with his bosses. They had told Alex at first that they were coming in the morning but then they switched it up at the last minute. They liked to do things like that, like they wanted to catch something. They had told him that they had always came in the morning before so they felt like switching it up. Alex would be there, most likely. He pissed Dave off, mainly because he always seemed so calm, so untroubled, so much unlike someone who was working the hours they said he was working. So fucking smug, that same shit eating grin on his face, not a goddamn care in the world. Meanwhile I'm getting bombarded with emails about sales being down, everything that's going on down there. He opened his desk and pulled out the other nip of whiskey he had bought earlier. Alex wasn't even there most of the time, from what he had heard. They were all having dinner there tomorrow, all of the corporate big shots, and him. He didn't want to go but there was no getting around it, it was one of those mandatory things. He couldn't think of anything he wouldn't rather be doing than consuming food from that place. It was like walking into a medieval inn and ordering a meal, who knows? Back then knowledge of food safety was non-existent and from what he could tell when he stopped by, very little had changed since then at the diner. Plus it was out of his way, a complete waste of time, and preventing him from accomplishing several real, far more pertinent, tasks that he had on his agenda.
Dave reached into his desk and pulled out the second nip he had gotten. He poured it into his cup. 55-60 hours, that's what they thought Alex was doing. Week after week. When they had told Dave thought it had been hard for him to contain his laughter. A person couldn't do that many hours without it having some signs of showing on them, dark circles under their eyes, a few grey hairs, Alex had none of that. He always looked, calm, collected, happy. A real manager of a place like that would look far worse. Dave knew, because he had seen Frank, seen what those kind of hours could do to a person, for a long period of time. Dave had known Frank from the early days, when he was only lead cook, when he had seemed somewhat happy at least. Then he had seen the change in him slowly as he became manager, as the years dragged om, first 8 hours days, then 10, then 12-13, six days a week for 20 years. Sometimes he would even clock out early and continue doing paperwork into the afternoon. Dave had never understood that, from his perspective. But sometime he had speculated that maybe he just didn't want to deal with the bitching from his bosses about his overtime, that also if he didn't do it today he'd have to deal with it tomorrow, and it would be easier for everyone if he just did it today. Beaten down by the company.
Dave swallowed the whiskey in one gulp, I'm getting better, he thought as he pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket. He took out a couple adderall's and stuffed them in his mouth chewing, took a sip from his coffee mug to wash them down. He would hit up the store for a pint of whiskey on the way home, he knew. He had already planned his route home, though back roads so he could partake of said whiskey and forget, maybe for only a few fleeting moments, how much he hated his job. Dave looked at this computer screen, well past eight. Fuck he thought, how have I been here this long. What if I was sick tomorrow morning? What if I eat something bad tonight? Maybe have some kind of 24 hour bug? Yeah, Dave thought, that might just work.
Jeanie looked through the door of the shed nervously, a cigarette burning in her hand, 'How long ago did he leave?' she asked Jim. Jim shrugged, 'Don't know, maybe an hour or so.' He took a drag of his own cigarette. 'He's up to something, I don't trust him.' She said finally. Jim nodded. Jeanie tended to say the same things of whoever was in charge, how they 'Didn't know what they were doing,' or how they were 'Assholes,' but this time it was different. He was starting to go after how long she was outside on break, how many cigarettes she had, indeed, he was starting to dig deeper into what exactly went on in the shed. 'You know they're all coming at some point today right? All the big wigs from corporate? I heard lunch but their still not here.' 'Yeah, Alex told me about it earlier, but I think we're in the clear.' It was already a little past quarter to 3 and his shift ended at 4, so he felt safe. Not that he had been too worried to begin with, he had met with Dave, the district manager, and Seth Rogers the vice president several times before and they had been nice enough.
'So you think he's not coming back any time soon right?' Jeanie asked again. 'Yeah, probably not.' Jim replied. After Gary had been fired Alex had started changing everyone's hours, Jeanie's first and foremost. First he would put her 8-3:30, then a few 8-3's, today he had put her on 8-4, but she could already tell he wanted her out earlier. She had taken to simply gathering all of the dishes at a little after 3 doing what was left and then cleaning the station. 'I'll probably be getting out of here pretty soon. You guys going out later on?' Jeanie asked. 'Yeah, probably at the Hot-L. Nothing special really.' Jeanie nodded. Judy is going to get shitfaced, Jim is going to get solidly drunk, but just sober enough to be able to get them home in one piece. Jeanie knew already, after working with them for ten years and drinking together for the same time she knew a thing or two. Jim got back up and walked back in. Jeanie put out her cigarette, bad news for the night crew I guess, Jeanie thought as she got up to walk back in.
'So they're all coming tonight? Sam asked Zach. 'Yeah, that's what it sounded like.' Zach replied. He took a couple buds and loaded them into the bowl. Zach took a large hit and passed the bowl to Sam. It was a little past 5 and while there had been a little bit of a rush at 4 it had largely died down afterwards. Sam took a hit and passed the bowl back to Zach, the first hit bringing him a strong head rush. 'What about Alex, is he supposed to show up?' 'He didn't say anything to me about it, maybe.' Zach replied. Nice, Sam thought, no one knows anything. Zach had been assistant manger for several months now, but it seemed as though Alex didn't want to show him anything. Although he counted the drawer every night, and worked eight and half hours every day, Alex had shown him next to nothing. No ordering, scheduling, or any of things the things an assistant manager would normally do. Zach passed the bowl back to Sam. Why the fuck do they do this? Come up in here? Are they trying to catch us in something? To make sure everything is running smoothly? Do they just want to fuck with us?
Sam passed the bowl back to Zach. 'I could stay until 12 if you wanted tonight,' He said. They had put him on 3-10, which was ok, but he needed the extra hours. He knew Zach didn't particularly enjoy working until 12:30 every night, and he could hardly blame him. He would have felt the same way if his social life hadn't gone to hell when Andrea had left him, and he had lost his license. As it was now, he needed all the money he could get. 'Do you think you could go to store for me, at some point? He asked Zach. 'Yeah, definitely.' Zach replied.
This is hell, Sam thought, as he looked at the wall of tickets in front of him. At least some version of it. In some kind of crude, evil reality, this was all day, everyday. A rush that never stops, a printer that never stops printing orders, until they grow so long as to form some kind of medieval tapestry telling an epic tale of brave deeds. It had started out small a few four tops and then a couple of 5's but after that they had all come in packs, 4 to 6, or more. They had had it under control for the first hour, but now they were reaching critical mass, they were starting to run out of grill space, Fryer space, counter space. He threw some cheese on a couple or burgers, and checked the liver on an order of liver and onions, everyone had been getting everything tonight; Spaghetti dinners, liver and onions, corn beef and hash, omelette's. It never seemed to stop. He picked up the liver and the onions, handed the plate to Zach who put the mash potatoes and gravy on the order. They started to plate the rest of the order, they still had eight tickets on the board, plus three in the printers. Still, Sam wasn't too worried about those. He had learned that from Jim. They had worked together on a Sunday shift where Sam was prepping, Jim would cook with Frank and sometimes they would have 10 slips hanging from the printer, but it would never phase Jim. He would just stand there calm and collected, while the slips accumulated, and do what he had on the board. Then move on to the next.
Almost in the clear, Sam thought as he put up a plate in the window. There were a couple four tops left, and a couple two's but otherwise they were in the clear. A long ticket popped up from the printer. 'That's their order.' Lindsay said from the window. It was a long one, with a lot of substitutions, changes and other add ons. This might get fucked up, the thought came into his mind unbidden. No, he told himself, just slow down, work on the tickets you're working on, don't freak out. They started plating the first two big tickets, then the next two, finally they got to the one from the guys from Corporate. He told Zach about all the modifications and they put it out in under ten minutes. After that the last few orders on the board had been easy. Soon afterwards, the board was clear entirely. Sam looked up at the clock, it was a quarter to ten. 'Want to run to the store for me real quick? He asked Zach. 'Yeah, sure.' Zach responded. they felt victorious.
'Long fucking night.' Sam said as he took a swig of his beer. They were all sitting in the shed, him, Zach, and a couple of Zach's friend's and their girlfriends. They had thrown down on a thirty rack of beer and had split it in the shed. At least I don't have to worry about drinking and driving anymore, Sam thought. True you could still get busted for riding a bike intoxicated, but it seemed unlikely. It had died down inside enough that they had been able to hang out outside for much of the last hour, without anything coming up. 'Its weird that Alex never showed up.' Sam remarked. 'Yeah,' Zach replied. They had been in a haze for the past hour. Sam peered outside and noticed Lindsay coming out the back door. 'Care to join us?' Sam asked her as she walked toward the shed. 'Hey Alex just called, he said he wants to talk to you both tomorrow about tonight.' 'Ok, did he say anything else?' Sam asked. 'No,' Lindsay replied. This can't be good, he thought.
'The loneliest moment in someones life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.'-F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby
Dave looked out onto the highway from the window of his office. So many cars, trucks, SUV's, going along about their various missions. Some going to work, others with different purposes, some drunk, some transporting large amounts of narcotics. He wondered sometimes how much drugs were being transported at a given time on the interstate, how many people were drunk. It had to be a decent amount, considering how many cars were on the road on a given time. And who really knows how good a driver these people are? What kind of real training goes into getting a license? He often supposed it was only sheer luck that allowed him to make the half hour commute to work everyday. It seemed so often that something would happen, when large tractor trailer trucks were bearing down on him as he approached the exit to F.R. Rogers headquarters, also when he was behind large trucks carrying logs or cars, or other large cargo. Sometimes he wished for it, to just weave in between the lanes and crash. It would be so easy too, much easier then continuing this vile existence much longer. Each time he came to work he felt soiled, each time he left even more so. He had 12 different stores in his district, gas stations, car washes, and one diner, and the one he got shit about the most was the diner. How the fuck am I supposed to oversee all of these other things, and keep and eye on the diner. Alex was supposed to do that. But they never blamed Alex. Never. Even though sales had gone down dramatically since he had become manager, even though labor costs had gone up, they had always blamed him. It was Dave's problem.
It was never Alex's fault. No matter how far down the sales went, no matter how much labor costs went up it was always Dave's fault. He had been the first one to vouch for the guy, so he was the first one to take the heat once he fucked up. It seemed unreal in some ways. He had hired Alex as a patsy, a scapegoat, someone who could be the one to answer if the diner fucked up, yet so far it had been the opposite, Alex fucked up, sales went down, yet he was the one to blame. It was as if Alex was some kind of Rasputin, who had could manipulate anyone into liking him, and who could do nothing wrong. It seemed to be that way, whenever something went wrong up there, it was his fault. Even though he had 10 different stores he was personally responsible for anything that went wrong at that one. It didn't matter that he had hired someone to specifically be in charge of that one location, it always fell on him. He had brought him into the company so it was his responsibility, and apparently anything he fucked up was his responsibility too.
Dave looked at his watch, it was a little past 5:30, time for a little shot of energy, he thought as he opened on the top drawer of his desk. He had started the day taking Xanax, then a few OxyContin's in the middle of the afternoon, but when he was here this long it was usually only booze that could get him through the rest of the day. The granddaddy of drugs, the one that had been around the longest, the one that was guaranteed to work. The days had been long the past few weeks, months, maybe, he hadn't checked. He would come in at 9 every morning and on a good day he would maybe get out at 7, but 10 was usually more usual. The days and weeks seemed to blend into one, he was home sometimes, he knew. He had a house, that much was certain, and also a wife, although he seemed to see her less and less. He could vaguely remember the last time he had seen her, she had said something about 'Divorce,' and 'Irreconcilable differences,' and how she was moving in with her sister in Wisconsin.
Dave took out the nip of whiskey and poured it in the plastic water cup he had on his desk. He looked around, making sure no one was about to come in. They seemed, to trust him, the company, big mistake, Dave thought as he threw back the plastic cup. He made a face as he downed the liquor, he wasn't used to it. He had had a few beers back in college, but he had never been much of a drinker, not like this. Now he needed it, needed it to get through the last few hours at work, needed it to function as a normal member of society. Sometimes this made it hard when the time came to leave the office. It was only a 15 minute drive up the highway from his office to where he lived, but sometimes that 15 minutes could seem like an hour. It was after a few of those perilous journey's home that Dave had realized that he needed a back-up plan if he got too fucked up at work, a contingency plan if things went to awry. Obviously passing out at his desk was not an option, the old standby, lest his co-workers were to somehow walk in and see him passed out at his desk. The answer had come to him readily, as had the answer to much of his other problems as of late. Drugs. Adderall in particular. It picked him up enough from all the other stuff that he was able to make it home. To focus on the road. He had found a dealer for it, something he had never had before, and illegal dealer of anything.
Dave was going up to the Diner the next day for a meeting with his bosses. They had told Alex at first that they were coming in the morning but then they switched it up at the last minute. They liked to do things like that, like they wanted to catch something. They had told him that they had always came in the morning before so they felt like switching it up. Alex would be there, most likely. He pissed Dave off, mainly because he always seemed so calm, so untroubled, so much unlike someone who was working the hours they said he was working. So fucking smug, that same shit eating grin on his face, not a goddamn care in the world. Meanwhile I'm getting bombarded with emails about sales being down, everything that's going on down there. He opened his desk and pulled out the other nip of whiskey he had bought earlier. Alex wasn't even there most of the time, from what he had heard. They were all having dinner there tomorrow, all of the corporate big shots, and him. He didn't want to go but there was no getting around it, it was one of those mandatory things. He couldn't think of anything he wouldn't rather be doing than consuming food from that place. It was like walking into a medieval inn and ordering a meal, who knows? Back then knowledge of food safety was non-existent and from what he could tell when he stopped by, very little had changed since then at the diner. Plus it was out of his way, a complete waste of time, and preventing him from accomplishing several real, far more pertinent, tasks that he had on his agenda.
Dave reached into his desk and pulled out the second nip he had gotten. He poured it into his cup. 55-60 hours, that's what they thought Alex was doing. Week after week. When they had told Dave thought it had been hard for him to contain his laughter. A person couldn't do that many hours without it having some signs of showing on them, dark circles under their eyes, a few grey hairs, Alex had none of that. He always looked, calm, collected, happy. A real manager of a place like that would look far worse. Dave knew, because he had seen Frank, seen what those kind of hours could do to a person, for a long period of time. Dave had known Frank from the early days, when he was only lead cook, when he had seemed somewhat happy at least. Then he had seen the change in him slowly as he became manager, as the years dragged om, first 8 hours days, then 10, then 12-13, six days a week for 20 years. Sometimes he would even clock out early and continue doing paperwork into the afternoon. Dave had never understood that, from his perspective. But sometime he had speculated that maybe he just didn't want to deal with the bitching from his bosses about his overtime, that also if he didn't do it today he'd have to deal with it tomorrow, and it would be easier for everyone if he just did it today. Beaten down by the company.
Dave swallowed the whiskey in one gulp, I'm getting better, he thought as he pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket. He took out a couple adderall's and stuffed them in his mouth chewing, took a sip from his coffee mug to wash them down. He would hit up the store for a pint of whiskey on the way home, he knew. He had already planned his route home, though back roads so he could partake of said whiskey and forget, maybe for only a few fleeting moments, how much he hated his job. Dave looked at this computer screen, well past eight. Fuck he thought, how have I been here this long. What if I was sick tomorrow morning? What if I eat something bad tonight? Maybe have some kind of 24 hour bug? Yeah, Dave thought, that might just work.
Jeanie looked through the door of the shed nervously, a cigarette burning in her hand, 'How long ago did he leave?' she asked Jim. Jim shrugged, 'Don't know, maybe an hour or so.' He took a drag of his own cigarette. 'He's up to something, I don't trust him.' She said finally. Jim nodded. Jeanie tended to say the same things of whoever was in charge, how they 'Didn't know what they were doing,' or how they were 'Assholes,' but this time it was different. He was starting to go after how long she was outside on break, how many cigarettes she had, indeed, he was starting to dig deeper into what exactly went on in the shed. 'You know they're all coming at some point today right? All the big wigs from corporate? I heard lunch but their still not here.' 'Yeah, Alex told me about it earlier, but I think we're in the clear.' It was already a little past quarter to 3 and his shift ended at 4, so he felt safe. Not that he had been too worried to begin with, he had met with Dave, the district manager, and Seth Rogers the vice president several times before and they had been nice enough.
'So you think he's not coming back any time soon right?' Jeanie asked again. 'Yeah, probably not.' Jim replied. After Gary had been fired Alex had started changing everyone's hours, Jeanie's first and foremost. First he would put her 8-3:30, then a few 8-3's, today he had put her on 8-4, but she could already tell he wanted her out earlier. She had taken to simply gathering all of the dishes at a little after 3 doing what was left and then cleaning the station. 'I'll probably be getting out of here pretty soon. You guys going out later on?' Jeanie asked. 'Yeah, probably at the Hot-L. Nothing special really.' Jeanie nodded. Judy is going to get shitfaced, Jim is going to get solidly drunk, but just sober enough to be able to get them home in one piece. Jeanie knew already, after working with them for ten years and drinking together for the same time she knew a thing or two. Jim got back up and walked back in. Jeanie put out her cigarette, bad news for the night crew I guess, Jeanie thought as she got up to walk back in.
'So they're all coming tonight? Sam asked Zach. 'Yeah, that's what it sounded like.' Zach replied. He took a couple buds and loaded them into the bowl. Zach took a large hit and passed the bowl to Sam. It was a little past 5 and while there had been a little bit of a rush at 4 it had largely died down afterwards. Sam took a hit and passed the bowl back to Zach, the first hit bringing him a strong head rush. 'What about Alex, is he supposed to show up?' 'He didn't say anything to me about it, maybe.' Zach replied. Nice, Sam thought, no one knows anything. Zach had been assistant manger for several months now, but it seemed as though Alex didn't want to show him anything. Although he counted the drawer every night, and worked eight and half hours every day, Alex had shown him next to nothing. No ordering, scheduling, or any of things the things an assistant manager would normally do. Zach passed the bowl back to Sam. Why the fuck do they do this? Come up in here? Are they trying to catch us in something? To make sure everything is running smoothly? Do they just want to fuck with us?
Sam passed the bowl back to Zach. 'I could stay until 12 if you wanted tonight,' He said. They had put him on 3-10, which was ok, but he needed the extra hours. He knew Zach didn't particularly enjoy working until 12:30 every night, and he could hardly blame him. He would have felt the same way if his social life hadn't gone to hell when Andrea had left him, and he had lost his license. As it was now, he needed all the money he could get. 'Do you think you could go to store for me, at some point? He asked Zach. 'Yeah, definitely.' Zach replied.
This is hell, Sam thought, as he looked at the wall of tickets in front of him. At least some version of it. In some kind of crude, evil reality, this was all day, everyday. A rush that never stops, a printer that never stops printing orders, until they grow so long as to form some kind of medieval tapestry telling an epic tale of brave deeds. It had started out small a few four tops and then a couple of 5's but after that they had all come in packs, 4 to 6, or more. They had had it under control for the first hour, but now they were reaching critical mass, they were starting to run out of grill space, Fryer space, counter space. He threw some cheese on a couple or burgers, and checked the liver on an order of liver and onions, everyone had been getting everything tonight; Spaghetti dinners, liver and onions, corn beef and hash, omelette's. It never seemed to stop. He picked up the liver and the onions, handed the plate to Zach who put the mash potatoes and gravy on the order. They started to plate the rest of the order, they still had eight tickets on the board, plus three in the printers. Still, Sam wasn't too worried about those. He had learned that from Jim. They had worked together on a Sunday shift where Sam was prepping, Jim would cook with Frank and sometimes they would have 10 slips hanging from the printer, but it would never phase Jim. He would just stand there calm and collected, while the slips accumulated, and do what he had on the board. Then move on to the next.
Almost in the clear, Sam thought as he put up a plate in the window. There were a couple four tops left, and a couple two's but otherwise they were in the clear. A long ticket popped up from the printer. 'That's their order.' Lindsay said from the window. It was a long one, with a lot of substitutions, changes and other add ons. This might get fucked up, the thought came into his mind unbidden. No, he told himself, just slow down, work on the tickets you're working on, don't freak out. They started plating the first two big tickets, then the next two, finally they got to the one from the guys from Corporate. He told Zach about all the modifications and they put it out in under ten minutes. After that the last few orders on the board had been easy. Soon afterwards, the board was clear entirely. Sam looked up at the clock, it was a quarter to ten. 'Want to run to the store for me real quick? He asked Zach. 'Yeah, sure.' Zach responded. they felt victorious.
'Long fucking night.' Sam said as he took a swig of his beer. They were all sitting in the shed, him, Zach, and a couple of Zach's friend's and their girlfriends. They had thrown down on a thirty rack of beer and had split it in the shed. At least I don't have to worry about drinking and driving anymore, Sam thought. True you could still get busted for riding a bike intoxicated, but it seemed unlikely. It had died down inside enough that they had been able to hang out outside for much of the last hour, without anything coming up. 'Its weird that Alex never showed up.' Sam remarked. 'Yeah,' Zach replied. They had been in a haze for the past hour. Sam peered outside and noticed Lindsay coming out the back door. 'Care to join us?' Sam asked her as she walked toward the shed. 'Hey Alex just called, he said he wants to talk to you both tomorrow about tonight.' 'Ok, did he say anything else?' Sam asked. 'No,' Lindsay replied. This can't be good, he thought.
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