Now You See It

I kept slipping off my seat. I ordered another Guinness draft. “You’ve had your limit,” Elvis the bartender replied.

“Hey, don’t be cruel, mister bartender.” I pivoted outwards on my seat and waved. “I’m outta here.”

Elvis grabbed me by the shoulder. “You’re not driving, brah, are you?”

I shrugged his hand aside and swung back around. “Well, I won’t — not if you give me just one more Guinness.”

“Another one? What? No way. And no way am I letting you drive in your fucked up condition. The liability for us would be too huge.”

“Plus I could kill someone or get killed too, right? Gotta think about what else could happen. Drink responsibly.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Elvis said. Let’s just say I worry about our best customer. I don’t want anybody getting hurt. You ain’t driving. Hand over the keys. I’ll call a cab.”

“But what about my car? I can’t leave it out in the parking lot. You know it’ll get towed.”

Elvis shook his head impatiently. “How far you live?”

“Up Ward Avenue, turn left at the top, you’re practically there.”

“Tell you what,” Elvis said, “if you hang on for half an hour more, I’ll get Billy to come in his car, I’ll drop you off in your car. He can bring me back.” Billy was one of the waiters.

“Sounds like a plan,” I burped. “I can hold on.” I stopped swinging back and forth. “Hey, since I’m not going to drive, how about one more Guinness, dude?”

“You going’ t’row up, already. No more for you.” Elvis was emphatic.

I got up and headed for the restroom. Using the bar edge as necessary to help myself along, I made my way pretty easily to the corner by the restroom door. I congratulated myself. Grabbing the handle I pushed the door open and kind of dove into the restroom. I had some trouble with my zipper. Finally I got it down and dragged out mini me. As the stream began to flow, I waved him back and forth, pretending I was putting out a fire.

The restroom door swung open and in walked a one-armed man. He snugged up against the other urinal. I glanced at him, wondering how hard it might be to unzip his pants with only one hand. I thought about trying to take a closer look at the process, but decided not to. It would be weird.

I listened for the sound of the zipper but heard nothing. With some care, so as not to catch my little buddy in my own zipper, I closed the hatch. The one-armed man shook his vigorously and seemed to zip up like magic.

Then there was a sharp cry. “Jesus,” he shouted, “I’m caught in my zipper and can’t get it down. Can you lend me a hand, man?”

I looked down at my hands, then at the one-armed man. “Uh, like what do you want me to do?” I asked dazedly.

“Just pull my zipper down, if you can. I can’t do it with just my one hand.”

Eyeing the man’s penis, I stammered, “I’m a little drunk to be doing that, mister. You want me to get some help? Are you here with someone?” The one-armed man looked like he hadn’t been circumcised. His penis resembled a deflated pig-in-a-blanket.

“Godammit,” the one-armed man cursed, “I hate it when this happens. Let me try again.” He grabbed the zipper and tore at it. His wrinkly hooded penis flew free and then disappeared back in his pants. This process was punctuated by another sharp cry. “Jesus, I think I’m bleeding,” the one-armed man gasped. “I hope to hell I haven’t severed the fucking thing.” He stuffed his hand in his pants and felt around. He pulled out his hand and examined it. “Well, no blood at least.”

I had been steadying myself by holding on to the urinal. The scene unfolded like a strange dream. I slid to the sink area, accompanied by the one-armed man. I wondered how he would wash his one hand.

I looked at the man in the mirror. The light was better over the sink area. My vision was a bit blurry, but I knew this guy. “Aren’t you Senator Dan Inouye?”

The one-armed man looked at me in the mirror. “What?” he asked.

“Senator Inouye. Aren’t you him?”

The one-armed man looked curiously at me in the mirror. “He’s dead you know.”

“What?” I asked.

“Dan Inouye. He’s dead.”

I did know this. “Oh, right, right.”

The one-armed man, who really did resemble the late Senator pretty convincingly, turned off the tap, cranked out a paper towel, dried his hand a little, and then left the restroom.

I examined myself in the mirror, reliving what I’d just witnessed. I shivered involuntarily.

Stumbling out the door and retracing my steps along the bar, I stared out into the dining room to see if I could spot the Dan Inouye look-alike. The man was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey Elvis,” I called, grabbing the bartender’s attention. Elvis walked down the bar and stood before me. “Brah, no need yell. What the hell is it?”

“You are not going to believe what I just saw.” A vision of the one-armed and his probably uncircumcised penis stuck in that zipper’s metal teeth flashed through my mind.

“What, brah? What you seen?”

“I just saw the ghost of Dan Inouye. And he got his penis stuck in his zipper.”

Elvis looked crazily at me. “The ghost of Dan Inouye. With his penis stuck in his zipper? Right. And you want another Guinness?”

“I did see him. And his stuck penis. And I don’t think he’s circumcised.”

Just then, in the huge mirror running the length of the bar, I saw the one-armed man heading for the exit. “There. There he is.” I swung around and pointed at the door.

Elvis turned toward the door, but there was no one there. “Yeah right.”