The Rope Salesman (original draft)

The Rope Salesman

The bar was empty aside from this guy from Omaha who owned his home healthcare business. I yawned and turned the lights to their “last call” level.  Somehow we got on the subject of bands and we both interested in Social Distortion,…etc. I didn’t mind pouring him beer anymore, now that I knew he wasn’t a complete fuck.

Then in walks in a man that owns the quintessential blue collar worker look. He sits, not realizing that I’m about to close or that he interrupted the only semi-stimulating conversation I’ve had all day. He wants a Bud Light. I pop it and put it down in front of him.

There’s a baseball game on and we start talking about the BoSox, his team. He’s a Boston man.

“I just woke up,” he said drearily. “I was drinking on the plane and then must’ve had a drink every mile from the airport to here,” he swigged.

The home healthcare guy piped in. “So now you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep.”

“Right, I’m going to have to get fucked up again just to take a nap,” I’ve got to get to the convention center in a few hours.

“What’s going on over there,” I said mechanically. I didn’t care, I rarely very do unless there’s a porn convention in town or a whiskey festival.

“Hardware show,” he said. “Store owners, tools, manufacturers, that kind of shit.”

“Do you own a store,” healthcare asked.

“No, I sell rope,” he said with a straight face.

Healthcare and I busted out laughing. A rope salesman. It wasn’t that it was so strange, it’s just that you never hear someone say “I sell rope” or even think about someone saying it.

“I used to manufacturer it,” he pounded his beer and signaled for another. I popped the top and placed it down in front of him. “now it’s all made in China, and it’s all shit.” He sucked back a long swallow and then pulled his shirt collar down to expose a red burn around his neck.

“If it was my rope, I’d be dead,” he said.

“Jesus, when did you try that?” I asked

“Just before I came down here, “ he said and signaled for another beer. “My rope don’t break.”I put the beer down in front of him.“My wife will attest to that,” he snickered. “Well, I guess she can’t really.” He slammed his beer while me and healthcare stared at him, waiting for him to say just kidding, or something, some kind of Ralph Cramden anti-wife joke.

“Whadda I owe you?” was all he offered.