Could Be Worse

When I saw Dave again, he was apologetic. “He told me to ask you, I thought he was kidding. I wouldn't ask you to get into trouble for me.”

This made me smile. Tim's simple-minded grumpiness was still under my skin. Dave's response reminded me, finally, why I had agreed to do this: I like Dave. He's a nice guy and a good worker. When he asked me to help him, putting the responsibility of making this happen on me, I wanted to help him out because he's nice. “Dave, its okay. I've had friends like him before. And worse for that matter.” I considered this for a moment. “Has he ever tarred and feathered your car?”

Dave laughed, probably instinctively.”No.” I tapped myself on the chest. “No, really.” I nodded. “By your friend? That's a pretty wild prank.”

“I thought so too. It was a pain to clean off.”

Tina was poured over a chair near the kitchen table. “That actually sounds like a pretty [unpleasant] thing to do. He thought that was funny?”

“He didn't think I would find it funny,” I tried to explain. “He thought other people would find it funny.”

“How?” she paused. “How would that be funny?”

I tried to explain.

Making Friends

“So where's the booze, man?”

My response to this long haired young man was quizzical and he was intelligent enough to recognize this meant confusion on my part. He repeated his question but it did not improve my comprehension. This time around, Dave heard him ask and he coughed quietly. “I, uh, didn't ask him, Tim.”

This news was not enough to stir Tim from sprawling over a chair near the kitchen table. “Dude, weak. I thought you said he was cool man.”

“He is cool,” Dave insisted. “He's not that cool.” He took a moment to look at me.”Sorry.” Returning to Tim, he noted “If he was that kind of cool, my Dad would never have agreed to give him the keys.”

“He can't pretend?” Tim questioned.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe I didn't want to pretend.”

“Dude, whatever.” Tim dismissed my input. “Not talking to you, Mr. Disappointment.” He nodded his head towards Dave. “I'm talking to this disappointment here.”

I was quickly confused. “But you're talking about me.” Tim dismissed me with a wave. For a moment, the anger took me but I released it as I exhaled. “Whatever.” There was no point in arguing with him. I had nothing to gain and everything to lose. “Whatever.” Having declared that, I went outside.

It was warm outside. Okay, warm was a poor choice of words. It was muggy and hot, politely uncomfortable even this close to the lake. I didn't like thinking of this as hot because it could, and would, get hotter this summer. It was only in the eighties. If I thought of this as unbearable, how uncomfortable would I be when it reached the nineties?

Why did I agree to this again? To sleeping on a couch, to being grouched at by teenagers, to driving to the middle of nowhere? In this place I can barely get a signal on my mobcomm. The television reception can't be very good. They must have a satellite to get anything. I was stuck babysitting a bunch of ungrateful teenagers. What a way to spend a weekend. Am I ever a chump.

“Hi.”

As distracted as I was by my thoughts, the sudden voice caught me off guard and I jumped, no doubt looking like an idiot. It was one of the young ladies from the group, standing in the doorway, looking especially bashful now that she's surprised me. She quickly apologized for that and identified herself as Janet, Tim's girlfriend. “He didn't really mean anything by what he said to you; it's just his way. He can come across a little difficult to people who don't know him,” she explained.

“Difficult is one way to describe him,” I grumbled.

“He's really not a bad guy,” she insisted. “Once you get used to him, he's very nice.”

“You know him better than me,” I reasoned. “I'm not particularly offended or anything if that's what you're looking for.”

She smiled in a way that read 'sorta' to me but the effect was ruined by Tim's appearance. As he walked through, he grabbed her by the hand, dragging her with him. “C'mon. I need some fresh air now that I've been disappointed.” He timed it so that he was looking in my face when he said 'disappointed'. How subtle. And I'd just been thinking how clever he'd been in sending out his sweet, innocent looking girlfriend to talk nice to me about him.

I'm starting to think it wasn't his idea for her to talk to me. She must love him. Or she's stuck with him for some reason.

Arrived

“Where have you been?”

It had been a long drive and I wasn't in the mood for bitchiness, even from someone I just met and was trying to stay nice to until I knew if she was always like this or not. “I wasn't that far behind.” Not being familiar with the driveway, I'd slowed down during the curves. This brief delay was too much for her to bear. “Well hurry up!” she demanded. Rather than argue with her by pointing out that she was impeding my path and how the door might already be open if she had just let me be, I remained quiet. She continued to gripe about how slow I was and how old I was and how I shouldn't be along and assorted other things as I walked to the door. She did all this from a pace behind me. This was a wonderful experience. When I'd finally unlocked the door, I held it open for her. She gave me a Look and dashed inside, her arms folded in defiance as she stomped away.

Dave's buddy Chris, her boyfriend, approached as I fought to not return her Look with a Look. “She, ah, had to go to the bathroom. She's not always like that.”

My face softened. This was understandable. “For your sake, I hope not.” I gave him a grin and we set about getting ourselves and out stuff inside.

The word 'cabin' seems to mean different things to different people. I hear 'cabin' and I think 'log cabin' I guess. I picture something the pioneers might have lived in on the frontier: something small but functional, nothing particularly fancy or stylish. Other people evidently use the word 'cabin' to differentiate between the house they live in on a day-to-day basis and the house they have up north. It was no mansion but it was no shack either. When I'd seen the size of the group when we met up, I was concerned that there wouldn't be room for all of us. Seeing the building removed those concerns.

That said, I had no expectations that there would be a bed for me. I hoped for a couch that wasn't too battered and broken. Having collected my bag, I went inside and found Dave leaning over an aisle in the kitchen, laughing. I waited until the humorous wave faded and I had his attention. Gesturing to my bag, I asked “Where can I stow this?”

“Well, ah, we have room but we don't have rooms,” he stated apologetically.

I cut him off with a wave before he could get too deep into this. “That I understand. No worries. Do I have a spot that's going to be mine or are we just crashing where we fall?”

“I was, uh, thinking this might be okay.” Dave directed me into the next room, a den of sorts with a couple of chairs, a few books and things on shelves, a television, and a couch. It was a room that didn't look like it had been used much and the items in it looked rather new. “I wanted to have you in a room cause that just seemed right but it was just easier to split us up this way.”

I sat on the couch. It was sturdy and firm. “This'll be fine Dave. I've slept on plenty worse than this. Am I in here by myself or is someone grabbing a chair or...?”

“Should be by yourself,” was his response.

I grinned. “Just wanted to know what to expect. Cool. This should be fine Dave.”

He relaxed a bit. “Okay, cool. I was just worried, cause, well, I didn't want you to feel like I was disrespecting you or anything.”

“I'm still your boss but I'm not your boss at the moment.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Yeah. I'll try to mostly stay out of way this weekend,” I reassured. “Not that I'm not fun but I'm sure you don't want me around constantly.”

He laughed nervously. “You know you're welcome to be around us. My dad wants you to be around us some but, uh, yeah, that would be nice too.” Quickly he added “Not that you're not cool or anything like that.”

“Clearly,” I noted.

Very Serious Time

I am at a weird age, being older than my interns where they can pretend to respect me yet younger than their parents so that I don't seem like one of them. I often forget that I am older than the interns because, mentally, I'm not. At least I don't think I am. Well, I don't feel that I am. I'm almost responsible in an accidental sort of way.

Dave's dad was giving me a look over that worked to read all this information from me. He was a serious looking man that appeared to have a background in the military based on his haircut and decorations. “You don't look old enough to be running a department at a school,” he grumbled in his deep voice.

“I'm nearly thirty sir.”

“That's what I'm saying,” he thundered. “Got no experience, just some piece of paper that says you know what you're doing. You're just cheap labor to them, taking the place of a skilled, tested man.”

I wasn't sure if this was meant to be a personal attack or just a general grumbling against youth. His uninformed attack irked me but I fought the urge to snap back. “Did you know Mr. Kirby?” I asked excitedly. He grunted in confusion. “You know, the gentleman that ran the IT department before me.” This did little to resolve his confusion. “I'm sorry. I thought you might have known Mr. Kirby too. I like swapping stories about him. He taught me much of what I know, groomed me to take over for him.”

“You mean they cut him loose as soon as you were trained,” he incorrectly translated.

“No, no I don't believe so,” I responded. “He was at retirement age. I heard the Dean ask him to stay but he turned it down. It was right when they passed all that anti-smoking legislation and Mr. Kirby said if he couldn't have a cigar at his desk then it was time to leave his desk.”

“That!” he exploded. “Don't get me started on that!”

Now he was really making me nervous. Why was I doing this again? “Then I won't.”

Thankfully no rant was forthcoming. He just paced a little bit before he gave me another Look. “Little old to be hanging out with these kids arentcha? Suppose you got an eye for one of these little girls huh?”

“I have a girlfriend,” I informed. Why does no one think I might have a girlfriend?

“Oh! So you're looking for a trip. You'll be too busy working the bedsprings to supervise the kids!”

Patiently I noted “She's out of town that weekend. It's the only reason I agreed to go.”

“Whatsamatter? My kid's not good enough to you?” he demanded.

I was done. “Sir, if you don't want to trust me with the keys to your cabin, that's fine. I don't mind. Just let me know so we're not wasting our time pretending it's a possibility.”

For a long moment he stared at me. “Those kids bug you all day, don't they?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Dunno about bug. They keep me busy and I try to keep them busy so they don't keep me too busy.”

He nodded. “I had to test you. Dave's not a bad kid but he'd young so, despite what he thinks about himself, he's still an idiot. In a few years he'll realized that.”

“I realize that about myself,” I agreed.

“Good. I just don't want him to regret too much when he gets to that age, ya unnerstand?” I nodded. “Good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Despite what he thinks, I do want him to enjoy himself. Just not too much because then he might not enjoy himself.”

I grinned. “I unnerstand.”

“And if he enjoys himself too much on my property then he definitely won't enjoy himself.” With a Serious Stare, he handed me the keys.

Do What Now?

“Hey, can I ask a favor?”

I looked up slowly from my papers, staring at Dave as if over glasses I was not wearing. I hoped I looked Rather Serious as I had no clue where this question would lead us. “You can ask,” I slowly replied, emphasizing the word 'ask'.

Apparently the Look had the effect I desired as Dave immediately became more visibly nervous, shuffling his feet and toying with a stray pencil in the mess on my dash. “Well, ya see, remember that day off I got scheduled for next Friday?” I nodded slowly, still wondering where this was headed. “Yeah, well, we're going camping that weekend, me and some of my friends, and, well, I kinda need your help.”

I was still confused. I don't camp. It doesn't appeal to me. Long ago I had a friend talk me into it after months of explaining how awesome it was. I went on a long hike where I saw nothing but trees and got eaten by mosquitoes. The campfire idea sounded fun but it rained that night as well as the bulk of the next day. While I'm sure that every camping trip isn't like that, the experience was miserable enough for me to lose any remaining interest in camping. Without resorting to this level of detail, I briefly explained my lack of qualification, as well as lack of interest in sitting in a field.

Dave quickly explained further. “My folks have a cabin up north that we're going to. My dad was going to go with us but now he has to work. He won't let us go without a responsible adult to supervise.”

Two questions came quickly to mind. Why do you need a chaperone? I'm a responsible adult? I remained confused for a moment until possible reasons began to occur to me. “Does he need someone to guard his liquor cabinet?”

“Mostly I think. He won't give me the keys to the cabin. Can you help?”

I considered this for a moment. Sarah Jean was visiting this weekend so it was unlikely that she'd be back next weekend as well. I should be free and the fresh air would do me some good. It wasn't like I didn't have personal days I needed to use up. “I'll talk to your dad and see what he expects,” I decided.

Dave brightened. “Thank you sir.”

I am clearly too nice.

Let's Be Done With This

I sense your concern. 'Patrick,' you are thinking, 'hadn't you been drinking for some time as well? Were you safe to drive?'

Allow me to further explain my situation. While I had been consuming beer for a prolonged period of time, I had been keeping my own pace, not being influenced by Professor Smith-Smythe's pace. This prevented me from becoming too affected at any particular time. While talking to Jen, I had further slowed my drinking, as I was getting full as well as because it felt weird to be drinking with this student. This allowed my head to further clear and prevented me from saying anything too stupid.

Also don't think that once we decided that I would provide her transport that we immediately rose and entered my car. Did we soon depart the bar? Yes. Did we immediately leave campus? No. I had to return to my office first and take care of a thing or two. Also we had to go that way because my car was over that way.

Big Ken was nice enough to toss us bottles of water as we left so we wouldn't dehydrate on the way there. Can I put my hand on my heart and say that I was stone cold sober when I got behind the wheel? No. Can I say that I had good reason to feel sober and safe? Yes. Between my pace, the time that elapsed between when I stopped drinking and getting to the car, and the rehydrating effects of the water, I did not feel any effects of the alcohol upon me. By that time, the heat was more of an impact upon me than the alcohol had been. While the heat made me tired and sweaty, it did not prevent me from driving safely.

My being coherent is important at this point for more than just the fact that my driving was not impacted. It means that I was at my normal levels of stupidity, unaffected by the stupidity multiplier that is alcohol. It also means that my memory is unaffected. Therefore when I say that I drove Jen the couple miles to her house and dropped her off without even so much as a handshake of physical contact between us, it is not me guessing or believing that these were the events that occurred, it is a statement of fact. I am not interested in debates about personal perspective of events or memory erasers. Why would someone rewrite my memories of that night? What would be the point?

Yet the accusations are out there. I was seen leaving the bar with Jen. Someone took pictures of the event and manipulated them to make it look like our departure was more friendly that it was. To my eyes, they aren't even that well done. Do I know someone who has wasted his life in an attempt to make me look stupid? Yes. Do I really need the help? Of course not.

Sarah Jean, let's just blame this on Eric and move on.

We're Doing What Now?

Everything worked out. The laptop probably needed to be reimaged anyway and, thankfully, Professor Pedrina had connected to the network causing the file synchronization program to run, updating his files on the network drive. Mrs. Schwanke was in a meeting and didn't notice any additional downtime due to the delay. Billy and I had a conversation about 'reading' and 'focus' and moved on from there.

“He never explained what caused the mix-up?” Jen asked.

“It's Billy,” I responded.”I don't think he knew. It just... happened.”

Jen shook her head as she worked on her drink. “He was talking to me. The reimage was my ticket.” This confused me and I requested more information. “Billy had a question about where Mrs. Schwanke's desk was and I was the only one around to ask. After he stumbled around waiting for someone else to return for a few minutes, I finally asked him what he wanted. He fumbled, stumbled, called me 'honey' at one point, tried to lean over my desk, almost fell, dropped his ticket and managed to grab my ticket when he picked up his. I'm not sure he'd ever spoken to a woman before.”

I couldn't help but laugh at that. Finally I responded with “Oh my. Well, I suppose that explains why he was more confused than normal.”

“Am I that intimidating?” she questioned.

This question confused me slightly. What exactly did she mean by 'intimidating'? I fought for as neutral a response as possible, which was a bit of a struggle given the situation. “I hesitate to speculate on anything regarding Billy and his reaction to people.” This answer seemed to satisfy her.

Awkwardly, Professor Smith-Smythe leaned over the table to speak with me. This involved having to politely wave Jen away and sprawl around glasses and napkins and such. This action managed to rob him of most of his dignity. “Thanks for the tour old man. Best one yet. Must dash.”

This declaration threw me off completely. “Are you okay to drive?” I asked, ignoring any compliment that may have been directed at me.

“Not to worry, my new friend is providing the transport.” He grinned wickedly and winked. “Ta.” Surprisingly quickly, they were gone.

While I was shocked, Jen was confused. “What just happened?”

“I think Professor Smith-Smythe just picked up your friend.” Admittedly I was torn between two responses, a 'that is so wrong' as well as a 'lucky dog'.

Jen also had dogs on her mind, although from her exclamation, it was the female of the species she had in mind. “That's just wrong! And creepy! And she was my ride home.”

“Do you have far to go?” I checked.

She was still sulking. “No, but it'll feel like it in this heat.”

There was nothing else for it. “I can take you home.” She politely protested and I politely insisted and that slowly become the decision.