1
God, I hope it’s not Jules.
He can still see that man-made pond with its pumping fountain. It’s so strange to have to run out to the suburbs for a bartending job like this in the first place. Paul is city-folk. He lucked out in having come from the ‘burbs in the first place. Comfortable beginnings like that should more commonly end up in self-sabotage and wild behavior from kids like Paul running out of 20 in at least two ways.
There’s no cigarette in Paul’s hand to burn for him to really pantomime ponderment. Do we use the water? That’s the only reason there should be a man made pond like that, taking up so much space. You wouldn’t have dug a hole like that, and fill it with estranged water with no purpose besides to admire it. Everyone’s in a car trying to get to these chain restaurants lofted on what is likely another man-made hill.
It takes something totally off-center and useless to gather innocent focus in Paulie. He’s quite apt, he’s talented, he’s a good hang — he’s aware of this — but he’s not keen on using any of those abilities for good; for others. Ask Julia.
Julia’s one of the bartenders at the other bar/restaurant located on this strip mall-atop-a-hill. Thankfully, it’s not a courtyard situation; both venues are situated on the same line, divided by a breezeway, a yoga studio, and a for lease space. It takes about 60 seconds to get from Paul’s job to this one and about 15 minutes to get back. They are always busy, and the bartenders there never ever give Paul anything for free. Paul feels like no one respects the Fucking Code any more, but there’s no where else to achieve homeostasis they way Paul does it.
At times, half of the evening’s haul goes directly to Julia, Brock, or David.
Presence makes a rare appearance within this sterile watering hole. The fountain just goes and goes. There is a faint memory about Julia as he woke up this morning. It was easily disregarded. “I will find out when I find out,” Paul said as he noted how white his tongue appeared in the mirror. “That’s probably not good.”
Easy fix.
2
Never the water, though. Perhaps it was the regular dehydration making this pond particularly delicious tonight. Paul’s need for quick-access pockets filled with drugs (both for sale and for Paul), cigarettes, keys, wallet, phone, sunglasses outweighed the discomfort he’d feel in this soggy summer heat. It was is if restaurant’s grease covered every clean molecule. Sweating in his black denim he admires with a white noise wonderment — so beautiful this structure of Man!
You could just dive in it?!
Give it purpose tonight??!
To be honest: It feels like Julia is working today.
He short of the window that will solve this riddle and huffs once more to the pond. Maybe he would have a cigarette and ponder this thing. He fishes once again in his pockets, this time coming up with a reward. A 100 mm cigarette, “for more thorough conversations,” he likes to say. White lighter, because people say it is bad luck. It is clever to him and that is technically what counts in this life.
He dials and holds the phone to his ear, wondering how long he’s already been gone. His shift probably started by now. He could check the time but doesn’t. Instead, he turns back to the “for lease” window and focuses away from the empty space to see his reflection waiting for a pickup.
A couple of satisfactory vessels, whaddya say. He winks but the reflection is just standing there in sunglasses and a beer belly. This appearance does 15-20%. The suburbs can take it or leave it.
The ringing halts.
“…”
“Yo, Jessie. What is up dude?”
“Paul? — everything OK?” Jessie, hesitant.
3
“Yeah, man. All good — you know those ponds that they used to have in Canterbury? Like all over where we would ride bikes back home?” Paul, on task. A family walking by notes the uniform, and gives Paul a feeling that he should recognize them. “Ope, go ahead … See ya in there!”
“Paul. What are you doing, where are you?” Jessie’s curiosity hollowing.
“Sorry dude, I’m at work,” Paul, re-lights his cigarette. “You know those ponds though?”
“That’s at work? At the bar?”
“Yea. Well, no,” Paul’s talking to his reflection in the “For Lease” window again. Behind him, the empty space with the grass and the fountain pond are a photogenic backdrop, but every time Paul has tried to take that selfie, the sky just looks dark and most of the photo reveals too much of the empty space inside. Some contractor tools left behind.
Jessie’s curiosity wasn’t there to begin, but Paul is sometimes slightly, briefly entertaining. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to Paul if he finds something to do. He empties his dishwasher in a different area code while he waits for more. He weighs whether or not he’ll venmo forty dollars over again like he promised he wouldn’t.
Paul’s actually not thinking about money at the moment. Got ponds’ on the mind.
“It’s across from work. There’s a Pond like those Canterbury Ponds right below the parking lot here,” Paul hears clanging through the earpiece. “What’s that?”
“I’m doing dishes,” Jessie says. “I remember the ponds. Are you calling me about ponds right now dude, what the fuck?” It sounds like it comes from a smile. Jessie surprises Paul with an audible laugh through his nose. Couldn’t help it.
“Yes I’m calling you about fucking ponds!” Paul could just drive into the sunset, hearing Jessie’s temperament lighten. Any permanent fixture that continues to laugh with Paulie is a gift.
Paul propels: “You are, you’re like a water guy — a environmental guy, right?”
“Yes, Paul, I am ‘a environmental’ guy.’ I’m an Ecologist, you drunk idiot,” Jessie jabs. “A scientist.”
4
“A scientist! That is even moreso impressive Jessie, amazing work. Goods for you,” Paul is now pacing the sidewalk in front of the strip, working a fantasy audience. “Good for you, and good for me also, because I just so happen to have an E-Coli-Jistical question for you. Right this moment. Just for you.”
“Wow, man. Thank you so much,” Jessie jeered, dishes clanging in concert with his sarcasm. His own audience, perhaps. “Suddenly the student debt is worth it, if only for this moment.”
“You are very welcome, Doctor,” Paul flicks the butt pondward. “So these ponds…”
“So these ponds,” Jessie’s dishwasher dishwasher closes in the background.
“…are they not just a huge waste of water?” Paul straightens up, a political mimicry. “This is white people shit, right?”
Jessie’s trying to figure out the angle, “It’s actually not wasteful, white people shit.” He allows himself to smile, shaking his head as he dries his hands. “People have figured out what naturally-occurring bodies of water do for the environment and then recreate that in places like Canterbury. Or wherever you’re talking about.
“Since the land gets disturbed by development, or doesn’t have the means to be comfortably inhabited, we figure out how to make it livable. It’s one of our more responsible efforts — even though it’s usually just to balance out the bad…”
Paul’s spelling out W-Y-P-I-P-O in his head when he hears his turn come around and lets it go by this time.
Jessie continues: “So you’ll have a place to catch rain water that naturally filters toxic attributes before it heads back into the ground. You remember the water cycle?”
“I do — I know exactly that much.” Paul has wondered completely down the parking lot, unconcerned about his visibility to either restaurant. “If a house or a shop went there, would a natural disaster strike us down?”
“Not really. Or not quickly. It might sink into itself if that’s the spot where all the rain naturally gathered in the first place —,” Jessie, literally an Ecologist, likes what he does. Paul notes this if he ever wants to hold onto Jessie’s company — or anybody for that matter.
5
Paul’s uncle said you could get your foot in the door just about anywhere by asking them for 30 minutes to learn about what they do. He said, People love to talk about what they do. Especially in zero-stakes. That said, Paul was also strangely interested in the ponds. It was effective use of time — though he’d likely have to mention an in-progress family emergency to account for his tardiness. Especially since he showed up on time.
Jessie continues long enough for Paul to re-rail his thought-train:” — I think they’re actually called pond experts. You exaggerate what’s naturally there, then build draining systems to redirect the auxiliary rainfall from other, distant collection spots.
That way, everything that’s supposed to be supported by the dirt around it stays put.” Jessie finished. Feels good to educate.
“I guess I figured everything was going into one big trash pipe that boils the trash water clean again,” Paul contributes.
“No.” says, Jessie. “You want trash water to remain that way. You wouldn’t bathe in toilet water.”
“Is the dirty part about toilet water not the toilet itself?” Paul advocates for toilets and The Devil.
“Well, yeah, actually that’s true,” Jessie was impressed at the hip-fire hit. “It’s all the same filtration, but the toilet water sits there in pipes, in the tank, in the bowl. Tap water is in motion, so it’s safer to drink”
Paul is satisfied, but has lit another cigarette, fairly certain someone has yelled for Paul, but he’s a safe 40 yards away somewhere in the parking lot. His move is a no-look one-second finger to the air, since, for some reason, his co-workers never take it any further than peeking out the door to yell across the cars at him while he’s on his occasional “calls.” At least I’m not at the bar, guys – work with me here.
Paul: “So are we drinkin’ pond water then? Is that comin’ out our guns?”
“Noooo, dude.”
“So we are drinking the trash water?” Paul resumes his impression of a comedian.
“I believe you are drinking the trash water, Paulie.”
Jessie laughs again as chills run across Paul’s body.