You Know What?

The day started like any other day, oh how I know those days. I know them too well. I live them, every day it seems. I had my shift after 5, as the janitor for a local bar. But tonight I got a silly idea, that if that stupid fat little drunken ginger oaf of a man named Rory, makes a mess in the bathroom again, I would quit my job.

It wasn’t long until Rory came roaring in, already shit faced, smiling a stupid smile, his eyes practically winking at me, as if he were telling me, you know what’s coming later don’t ya? And normally, I’d frown, curse and mutter under my breath, stupid fucking drunk, but tonight I just laughed and smiled, quite pleased with the thought of my newfound plan.

I envisioned the exact scene, finding the bathroom a mess, and marching up to my boss’ office, telling him, “you know what? I quit!” and then storming out of the place. Ah! Sweet freedom. It was pretty much a sure thing.

Of course as the night went on, I got more nervous, thinking about the impending confrontation I would be having with my boss, a good guy, though not without his share of faults, but it wasn’t his fault he owned some shitty bar where shitty drunks congregated in order to forget about their shitty lives, most likely caused by their shitty habits.

And of course it wouldn’t be long before Rory had drank himself sick, sprayed the incoming wall to the bathroom, the sink and everything around it, and somehow managed to ruin both the stalls, and even one of the urinals.

And of course he did just that. I saw him stumbling out, half awake to his madness and still half asleep in his stupor. I calmly entered the bathroom, looked the mess up and down, sighed and exited, walking slowly to my boss' "office". Upon entering the building anxiety came to a sharp point, my body was tense, and rooted to one spot, not able to think at all, I mechanically rapped out the phrase I had remembered from my earlier reverie, “you know what? I quit,” and I turned and walked right out of his office not looking back and leaving him there speechless wondering what to do.

Walking out into the cool night air, a weight had been lifted from me, and my legs felt so weak I practically stumbled like some newborn deer. There was a hint of nervousness, lest my boss should come running up behind me demanding some more explanations.

I made it to the bus stop, waited impatiently for the bus, until it became clear that my boss had bigger fish to fry at the moment and when the bus came to a squeaking halt I climbed aboard and looked thoughtfully out the window at the passing night, safe behind big glass windows. There were a few other people on the bus, keeping to themselves, and I have heard before that some people do not like the big windows on the buses, but I quite like them. What should I care if someone wants to look in at me, like some zoo animal, it’s all the same to me, for to me, inside the bus, everything outside of my window is the zoo, or rather like an untamed jungle, and I wonder if zoo animals feel the same way?

When I arrived at my stop I made my way to front of the bus and as I was descending was cut off by a remarkably beautiful woman, all dark hair and ruby red lipstick, dolled up to the extreme, but quite skillfully, and her warm velvet sorry, stroked me like a kitten and I descended onto the pavement, staring for a moment as the doors squeaked closed and the heavy bus rolled onwards to wherever it was going.

“Huh?” I said, with astonishment and walked down the lane to my apartment, wondering if I would ever see the rogue women again.

And as fate would have it, I would.

The very next day, I decided to take the bus, though I knew not where I was going. I got on it early, for I could hardly sleep and decided to make the most of my newfound day, and to my surprise getting off was the woman in red, though she wore a sort of dark coat, covering a nightshade top and a little black skirt. She was sort of gothic looking, though not to those extremes that are sometimes unsightly.

“Hello,” I said, idiotically, and wondering what the hell I was even saying hello for, and she just smiled, averted her eyes to the ground, in the smoothest manner, strutting like some cool tigress, and off she went down the lane. I had half a mind to chase after her, but got on the bus and watched her as I was taken away down the road.

For the day I rode around for a while, got off at a busy shopping center, and walked around before having some lunch of a fast food burger and fries. As we approached my stop I saw once again my women in red, and decided this time I would wait and ride with her, see where she goes. But to my surprise, the woman came and sat next to me, but this time, something wasn’t quite right.

No, this time, though she had the same impeccable fashion sense, though her face was done up as if by some magnificent artiste, her hair was a mess, I mean quite literally, an absolute mess, with nearly half of it completely missing on the one side, except a few patches, and the other side fully grown and luxurious. 'What on earth!' I thought.

I looked at her utterly perplexed and she just smiled.

“Didn’t I see you yesterday?” I asked, bewildered, to which she replied, “I believe so.”

“But what happened to your hair?” I asked, just as bewildered and she looked at me playfully and said, “I pulled it all out,” as cool as a cucumber.

I looked her over, ‘there’s no way she could have pulled it all out,’ and seeing my confusion she confirmed, "I was wearing a wig… I have alopecia.”

I wondered a second, “But if you wear a wig, why not just shave the rest of it off?”

“Well, because if it decided to grow back, then I won’t have to wait for the other parts to grow back with it, it would be a pain to grow it all back a once,” and as she said this she flipped her good side of hair, and it looked so luxurious I almost forgot she was missing half a head of it.

“But what difference does it make? You’d have to grow the other parts back anyway, doesn’t it make sense to even it out? And besides, why aren’t you wearing your wig now? How can you stand to go out this way?”

She laughed, “Like I give a shit what anybody thinks of me. I do what I want, and that’s enough for me,” and she grabbed her long tresses and smoothed them down the front of her torso.

‘She does what she likes… I quite like that,' I thought to myself.

So then everyday I would get on the bus at the same time, ride with this beautiful girl, beautiful even despite her crazy hair, and ride with her till she got off at some dark part of town and disappeared into the night.

“I don’t believe I’ve asked you, what is your name?” I asked her.

“Rose,” she said with the same infectious smile. “What is yours?”

“John,” I said, though I don’t know why I lied, for I have never been called John in my life, and in fact I hate the name John, such a basic name.

“Rose, what a beautiful name, I really like that name.”

“Everyone does,” she said and coolly checked her makeup in the mirror.

Then one day, not very long after, about a week of our riding together, she stood up and looked at me, “you know what?” she said. “What?” I said, enthralled. “I quit,” and she smiled and strutted off the bus. I froze, rode along until the next morning, pondering but not understanding any of it. And to my disappointment she never got back on. I tried again the next day, but still no Rose, so I rode to her stop, and got off myself, walking off into the darkness until I came upon some form of light. It was my bar, out in the middle of nowhere. I stumbled in and found all the regulars drinking, Rory puking his guts out in the bathroom, even I was there in my fine janitor’s overalls, “but how can this be,” I said, confused and disoriented. And then came Rose, smiling with two beers in her hands. “Here,” she said, handing me one, and I mechanically threw it back, hoping to find some semblance of peace and ease. I did, but the rest of the night was a blur. I woke up in my apartment, wondering if I should go get my job back, and wondering if anything I’d experienced in the past few days, years, in my whole lifetime, had actually happened.