Of Course It Gets More Complicated

I have no idea why I thought the Professor would only want one drink. I suppose I'd gotten so used to the idea that Professor Smith-Smythe was having such a lousy time that he wouldn't want to linger. We'd have the one, he'd be sick of me and of being in the school, and want to head back to his hotel or whatever.

What I hadn't reckoned on was the power of alcohol to make someone comfortable. I also hadn't reckoned on the Professor's ability to inhale gin. I mean, he clearly had some practice at this task. I very quickly became glad the man had his own money and was interested in paying for his own drinks. I picked up every third drink or so, when I was refreshing my own beverage, and this made me the best chap in the whole of ever. Or something.

While he must have been rather drunk, he remained impressively coherent. This was handy as he became rather chatty. He discoursed on his own facility, the price of gas in Birmingham, the problems he'd had with his wife, how rotten his son is, as well as his belief in the existence of the French. It was a fascinating set of diatribes that I wish I could do justice to here but the beer fades the details.

I lost track of time. People came and went. Suddenly I looked up and it was Happy Hour. When I realized this, I sobered up quickly from fear.

I don't do Happy Hour, not anymore anyway. Happy Hour generally becomes Stumbly Fall-Down Time and that's not very Happy. Not to me anyway. I snapped to attention, did some math, and realized I was in trouble. The place was filling up, the Professor was showing no signs of wanting to depart, and the booze was getting less expensive. I would have to act fast to avoid further trouble.

I tried to make a display of stretching and then finished the last of my beer. “Well, it's getting late sir. Is there somewhere you need to be?”

My 'subtle' attempt to steer him to other tasks failed miserably as the Professor was focused on the waitress that had just pulled up to our table. Over the increasing din I could hear him mutter “Oh I say” in a far too appreciative tone. In all fairness to him, this young lady was rather pleasant looking so it made sense to admire her, only it seemed creepy for him to do so, what with him being married and old enough to be her father and such.

While the Professor may not have heard me, she had done so. “Oh, time to go?” she asked with a polite smile.

“What? Leave?” The concept seemed foreign to the Professor. “Who said such a thing? Him? Man drivels, pay him no attention. Another round my dear.” He keenly observed her departure. Grinning at me, he noted “Wonderful place you've got here.”

I felt very tired.