I SPENT THE WHOLE DAY IN MEETINGS. Nine AM to four-thirty. Sitting in one too-small conference room. I had time to watch the sun come up as I drove to Tacoma, and, if I got lucky with traffic, I might make it home in time to watch the sunset.
And I did make it home.
Rushed. But I made it.
Courtney, my beautiful, sweet, loving wife, had booked us reservations at the ZigZag in Seattle. Something of a jazz night: 6:40 ferry there, 10:30 ferry back. I’d be back home with enough time to read the book I’d just bought at the Ballast Book Co. I made it home from work with only enough time to throw on my fancy boots and a clean pair of jeans. I would have fought myself over which shirt to wear but I couldn’t afford to dicker. We’d missed the ferry more than enough times on my account.
We walked onto the ferry…
Pretty cool, isn’t it? How you can just walk onto the ferry as a passenger. Doesn’t cost you a dime. We headed up for the galley and I bought my first Coors Light (of too many, you’ll learn). “You wanna get something?” I asked my beautiful wife. “Should I try out this wine?” I watched the galley worker pour, into a small plastic cup, what should have been two and a half servings of wine. Wide-eyed, my wife fought a smile creeping out of her lips as I paid. “Sorry, I thought the bottle had more in it,” the worker said. “Is that enough?” “Yes, I think that’s plenty,” Courtney said.
Big, yellow WET FLOOR signs were scattered around the tables. It took me until I was sitting down to realize that water was leaking from the ceiling on the other side of the floor. “What is that?” I asked her. “You know my eyes don’t work too good.”
She told me it looked like some kind of leak.
I’d never been to the ZigZag, and I had a blast. I tried to be fancy and order some kind of aged tequila. They lit it on fire and everything, right there at the bar. Courtney ordered a cocktail–and got to enjoy her drink much more than I did. After that first round, I went back to ol’ faithful. I watched him pour the beer in my glass with a much deeper satisfaction than when they lit my tequila on fire. It really was a blast. We had a few drinks. Ate two orders of garlic bread. It was going to be a good night, a slow ferry ride back to our side of the water. We’d look up at the stars and confess our love to each other on the dock. We’d be home before midnight.
Or we would’ve been home before midnight.
We walked to the ferry terminal and saw on the screen: NEXT FERRY TO BREMERTON: 12:50 AM. I asked the clerk, “Did we miss the ten-thirty?” Nope, he said. Not enough crew members. Ten-thirty canceled. “Well, shit,” I said. Courtney shared my sentiment.
And what else to do when you’re across the water that late at night, on a Tuesday, than find a bar in Capitol Hill and have One Too Many. The walk from the ferry to the train terminal wasn’t too bad. Hopping off the train and walking to the bar in Cap Hill was pretty bad. My fancy boots, that I might have spent way too much money on and have only worn a dozen times, rubbed at my heels. I thought to myself, Yeah, we’ll take a scooter back downhill when we leave.
“Do you even know where we’re going?” Courtney asked.
She was sick of walking, too, and her voice showed her irritation.
“Yeah, there’s this one bar up here with pull tabs.” I had eleven dollars cash just burning a fiery hole in my pocket. Gambling cheered her up. “We’re due,” she said. “The universe owes us for missing that ferry.” I hadn’t heard a righter statement. We walked into the bar and found red button seats. The pull tabs were up on the far wall. “Which ones look good?” I asked her. “You know my eyes don’t work too good.” She had two in mind that looked ‘winnable.’ We rock-paper-scissored for the choice and won a hundred and nineteen dollars. A hundred and nineteen fucking dollars. Any of you ever won a pull tab?
Up until that night, we sure as hell hadn’t. The universe owed us, I thought.
Closing time. “Here, babe, hop up on this scooter so we can get back to the train,” I said. “I think I’ll just get my own,” she said. “C’mon, it’s only, like, two-hundred meters. I won’t even go full speed.” She agreed, reluctantly, and we hopped on the same scooter (Lime, if you read this, we were completely sober and took separate scooters) and we–
And we hit a curb and busted our asses hard.
I don’t even know how we hit the curb. I didn’t even see the curb. You know, my eyes don’t work too good. We ended up with nice scrapes along our forearms and a heaping helping of embarrassment as a car pulled up beside us to ask if we were okay. Ill-timed, I asked Courtney, “The universe owed us, eh?” // JACKSON RUIZ
[Authors note: Courtney, my beautiful, dear wife: I love you, and I’m sorry, and I promise I’ll start wearing my glasses again.]
