Auctioning Off My Roommate
by j.charles @ textproductions
Pancha’s is the last bar in the Napa Valley that smells like a bar; spilled Pabst Blue Ribbon on exposed plywood floors, wet ashtrays containing discarded “smoke at your own risk” cigarette butts, and expensive perfume. It looks exactly the same.
The hole in the wall for a front door describes it well from the outside, high pitched wooing and dim light contending for door space. The cue ball slamming into a rack is an infinite and consistent drone, adding to the jukebox and constant vocal conversation here at this unique place.
Pancha’s is the main link in the restaurant industry of the Napa valley, which is widely known to be fueled by nicotine and alcohol. Anyone who has worked in a bistro in the last ten years knows someone there right now, I can almost guarantee it.
The night in question the masses were assembled to celebrate Dave’s leaving our restaurant and moving on to something a little more hip. After a ceremonial last day Gatorade shower in anything rank from the kitchen, about nine shots, two beers and a pool game later I walked in.
Dressed in a “homellow” yellow vest, made by J. Crew I had the fucking tie on and everything. Pleated pants, timberland boots and a nice watch; total suburban white chump deal. I take two steps in and already Rob, another cook from work, lays into the sweatervest. “What the fuck is that! I kept asking where you were at work today, but I didn't’t expect anything like this…..” and then with an immediate grin, “…fag.”
“I’m glad you’re getting a good laugh out of this. I mean, seriously. Everybody else just lied to me and said I looked ‘great.”
“No, you pretty much look gay. But in a gay way I guess. You know the whole L.L. Bean catalog thing. Those glasses and that sweatervest are what do it. It’s just so…gay.” I turned to the girl who was sitting at the bar very purposefully eyeing our conversation having no idea who she was and asked “what about you, princess, does this look metro-fuckin-sexual to you?” it sounded a lot cooler out loud.
She looked me up and down and, I noted, spent a very noticeable time assessing my package. I covered my crotchal region with my hand. She looked up and flashed that dirty little smile at me. “You look very good. The color is kinda gay, but I would do you.” Thank you, ma’am. I extended my hand and my name. She was eating Doritos and had orange finger, so she extended her left. “I’m Jenna. Would you like a Doritos?” I took the Dorito of lust from her, exchanged innuendo laden dialogue, and touched her butt. Then I had to move on for amusement purposes.
Rob pulled me to within whisper distance and delivered the goods. “Dude, that’s my roommate. She’s pretty desperate. You should do her.” I shit you not. So naturally I returned to the conversation with the treat a ho like a ho attitude in my homellow vest.
Sat next to Jenna and denied another Doritos invitation “uhm, no…actually I’m still a couple of sentences back, if you would like to come and join me.” I was, of course, referring to “doing” me. She had on red high heels, what could I do? And besides, her forehead wasn’t that big. “Pabst blue ribbon please.” I love that shit. Best dollar beer in America and you can find it in any bar that smells like cigarettes.
“That is so hot.” She said, instantly getting up in my space bubble. I had the pleasure of knowing Jenna for about five minutes before I was very convinced I could rail her, right there at the bar, if I asked right. It would be kind of fun. I gave a good long stare at her, as I often do to anyone who will let me. She smiled the dick smile at me, drank her drink and smoked her cigarette. All while looking very attractive, I might add, for having a forehead as big as a chalk board. “So what was it that you wanted to know?” she asked, Camel smoke drifting out of her mouth.
I stalled, my inhibitions temporarily obstructing the inevitable. The look on my face must have given me away, but she still sat in wait for an answer. A playful one no doubt, but nothing like “I was just wondering….” Fuck it! “If you would like to buy me a beer and take advantage of me.” Jenna giggled nervously, as if to buy her some time to respond.
“Two fifty” the bartender said, temporarily averting my gaze away from Jenna. This girl was one big sociology experiment to me at the moment. I was having fun playing with the mouse. Jenna hesitated too long and I handed the bartender a twenty. After receiving my change and separating a tip I pulled a move I had learned from my grandfather, of all people. I smiled, took a drink of my beer and bid jenna a farewell for the moment. “Have a lovely evening, princess.” I winked when I said princess and immediately walked away, therefore not allowing any “oh, wait” to occur. There’s the back of my homellow vest for you, bitch. So vain.
Rob followed me to crowd around the two bar boxes in the house and watch some competitive pool. I had to ask “why were you just auctioning off your roommate?” he had the answer as if it were planned out.
“I’m serious. She’s desperate. She wants the wang. I guarantee she’s fucking somebody here tonight.” The explanation was just so...so practiced I could not believe it. Almost like he was trying to get somebody else to do it so he wouldn't have to. After all, they are living in the same place.
Me and my homellow sweatervest weren’t the only ones to shoot her down that night, just the first. To be perfectly honest with you I would have done it. Any guy would’ve done it. Her dome windshield isn’t so big with her big ass in the air and her face in a nice down pillow, after all. Then it’s kind of inviting, a sort of stabilizer, like a kickstand.
Later on in the evening I still found myself staring incessantly at this girl and her plight from across the bar. She was talking to like every guy within arms distance, bless her heart. But the thing is guy after guy just kept turning her innuendo into conversation. Rob would constantly return with another story about a hook-up tailspin four barstools away. In one case, she even just went right in for the kill with “y’know, you sure are a sexy son of a bitch.” Wow. One of the horniest and dirtiest men I work with turned poor jenna down at Pancha’s that night. I dint even know that was possible.
By the time the lights came up and bar time had arrived jenna’s butt crack was spilling out of her tight black spandexy pants. You could yodel down how much of her butt was showing in between shirt and pant. She was leaning on a wobbly arm finishing her last beer, talking to the last guy left in the bar who would, conceivably, do her. I slipped the fuck out of the back door so I didn’t have to walk by her ravenous sex fangs of drunken lust. I hope she got laid that night. Honestly, i'm not even sure I have ever seen a girl try harder than a guy to get laid. After a while it became such a joke that there had to be guys baiting just to turn her down, which kind of sucks for her.
But it just goes to show you everyone had bad days. Jenna had a bad day because she couldn’t get laid by anything that moved in that bar. Rob had a bad day because jenna couldn’t get laid by anything in that bar and had to pick up the slack. Dave had a great day because he got more jagermeister in him than is remotely safe, hit on some attractive women, and hopefully did his dirt. I had a great night because I got to observe another person’s plight with the most minimal interaction. And I didn’t have to do jenna, with a forehead big enough to write out Macbeth on, double spaced. Sux to be Jenna, at least tonight. You’d think that the red high heels would’ve been a lock. At least for me. yes, Jenna, I am a sexy son of a bitch, even in “homellow.”