Ashes to Ashes

It Halloween week, so it seems like an appropriate time to tell this story.  I recently heard one of the most awkward/hilarious stories I've heard in a long time.  To protect everyone involved, have changed change names and taken liberties with some non-essential details, but rest assured, this is a true story.

A friend of mine -- who we'll call Griffin, no, actually, Bort -- was out of town for work.  Bort and several co-workers went to a bar one night.  Bort and a co-worker, who we'll name Hannibal, were talking.  Hannibal had a problem.  The poor guy had a headache, but no pain killers.  Egad!

Next to Hannibal, however, was the purse of another co-worker, who we'll call Morticia.  Hanging from a carabiner on Morticia's purse was one of those little cylindrical travel vials of aspirin.  Morticia was heavily involved in another conversation, and her back was turned to Bort and Hannibal.  Not thinking anything of it, Hannibal grabbed the aspirin canister and popped the top open, hoping to grab a couple pills to ease his increasing cranial pain. 

There were no pills inside, but rather the vial was filled with a bluish gray powder.  "What the hell is that?," Hannibal muttered.  Is it a crushed up drug of some sort?, he wondered silently, now looking at Morticia in a different light.  Not white enough to be cocaine, he thought, but it could be Adderall?  Ritalin?  Heroin?  Bath salts?  "Maybe it's PCP," Bort cautioned, half-laughing, although visibly uncomfortable with the whole situation.  Just close it and put it back, man, Bort wished he could have said, but couldn't manage to choke out the words.

Only one way to find out, Hannibal thought, his inner monologue sounding a lot like Sean Connery for some reason.  He licked the tip of his finger, stuck it into the powder, placed the fingertip full of powder on his tongue, kind of rolled it around his mouth with his tongue, and then swallowed.  Unable to place the taste, Hannibal said, "I have no idea," before placing the cap back on the vial, and putting it back on Morticia's purse before she could notice. 

Thank God that's over, Bort thought, noticing how clammy his palms had become.  "Another beer?  I think it's my round," Bort said, hoping to change the direction of the conversation away from what Bort believed was not only an invasion of privacy by Hannibal, but was also the very real possibility that his co-worker Morticia was hooked on angel dust, a drug known to give its users a dangerous combination of superhuman strength and vivid hallucinations.  Don't piss Morticia off, Bort thought to himself, just in case.  "Yeah, I'll have another," Hannibal replied. 

Bort summoned the bartender, a man-child with a black horn-rimmed glasses, a tight-fitting vintage Frankenberry t-shirt, and a full, bushy beard that hung four inches below his chin.  "Two more Mich' Ultras, hombre," Bort said, even though this man was not a native Spanish speaker.  "Thirteen dollars," the man-child replied in a cool, indifferent tone, while twisting the caps off of two well-chilled bottles of beer.  Bort counted the money in the brushed nickel Tanqueray money clip he found on the sidewalk seventeen months earlier.  Exactly thirteen dollars.  God damn, Kalamazoo is expensive, he thought as he handed the money to the man-child.  Bort then reached into his other pocket and fished out seven quarters, which he delicately placed on the bar in single stack.  "He deserves it," Bort whispered to himself. 

Bort handed one beer to Hannibal.  They clinked the necks of their respective beers together, and each took a long slug, both satisfied knowing that this beer wouldn't damage their svelte, almost sickly figures.  As their conversation drifted back to the office fantasy cricket league and how that prick Grant Davies was going to win it all again this year, Bort felt a quiet comfort.

A few minutes later, there was a break in Morticia's conversation.  Not even talk of the Chennai Super Kings' top three batsmen could prevent Hannibal's curiosity about the contents of the vial from coming to a rolling boil.  He tapped her on her shoulder, noting how smooth her tawny velour pullover felt under his fingers.  Hannibal exclaimed, "Hey Morticia, quick question," a little louder than what the situation called for.  "What is it, Hannibal?," she said, thinking about how comfortable her top felt on her skin and noticing for the first time that Hannibal had gray eyes.  "I have a headache, and I noticed you have an aspirin vial.  Can I have a couple?," he asked.  "Oh, that's not aspirin," she replied.  "What is it then?," Hannibal asked, blissfully unaware that he would never forget the next two words that came out of her mouth:  "My sister."