Trapped in a Cliche

I was out last night sitting at that one place with a tall cup of something or other, taking a swig, staring at an unlit cigarette resting on the bar in front of me.

My phone rang. The number: Unavailable. I don't answer those. Figure if it's important enough guy'll leave a message right? Besides I'm an unpopular sort. Anyone calling me at that hour would be someone I owed money. Not likely to come down to the watering hole and fill my cup a time or two.

Really that's all I'm looking for, at least my eyes tried to say that to the gal at the other end of the bar: "Why don't you sidle on over here and fill my cup a time or two?"

I winked. Maybe I could fill hers.

She turned her back on me, slowly. I assumed she was going for dramatic. Ladies and gentleman we have a winner.

The condensate rolled from my glass now, starting to pool on the bar, spreading towards that unlit cigarette. Guy that gave it to me said it was organic, no chemicals. Think I was supposed to be impressed. Wanted to tell him that cancer was organic too. Figure I'd better shut my mouth since someone was being nice to me for once.

Stupid phone is going batshit now. Still "Unavailable." Bout to drop it in the pint for what it's worth, but that would ruin a perfectly good beer. Maybe ask the barkeep for a glass of water, "Half full, easy on the ice." Yeah that'd do trick.

Raised my finger but he's on me first, cordless phone in hand. "You got a call, chief."

Who the eff is calling me here? I grunt. He slaps the phone into my palm. "Shoot," I spit into the receiver.

"Hello." I know that voice: plaintive, yearning, unambiguously reeking of despair and need. Lots of need.

"You have got to be kidding me." Hackles are up now. Anyone in the bar in on this? Glance around, see a woman's back. Two dudes shooting pool. Bartender drying a glass, watching a baseball game. Uh oh.

"You did it to yourself," the voice says.

Why so snarky? Figure I better play it cool now but my hands are sweating so bad I'm leaving grimy prints on the bar and the man's phone. "Did what?" I ask. I rolled and came up with coy. Hey it's an angle.

"Don't be coy." So I rolled two sixes. Maybe two ones. Either way I'm screwed.

"Look, I'm..."

"Sorry? Do better."

I can't do better though. I'm zapped. Creativity gone. I got nothing, as the man says. I end the call. Pointless. Wave Charley over and hand him the phone back. Watch him wipe the sweat from it.

"Pour me a stiff one, ace." Gonna need something to wash that taste out. Nothing like realizing you're trapped in a cliche.

"Last call, bub. Happened while you were shooting your mouth off." Figures. I size him up. Wondering how he ended up with a thick Boston accent when we're on the other side of the map. Yep, this is bad.

"In that case, make it a glass of water, half full..."

"Easy on the ice?" He starts nodding.

Looks like this ain't his first rodeo.