I’m leaving Cleveland at the end of the week and sick to my stomach about it right now. The road to my dream career kept me here for a while, but the next stop is Pittsburgh. And the train leaves Sunday after the Browns game. My ticket’s already stamped, and my bags are packed. Make no mistake — I’m very happy with this development. Personally and professionally, this is going to be a fantastic move. There’s just a few things that are starting to get to me.
* * * * *
On the way home from work yesterday, I stopped at the gas station around the corner from my house. The girl who’s been selling me cigarettes for the last four years, Jenny, grabbed three packs when she saw me pull up in the Jeep. She always does that. We chat sometimes when the store’s not busy. She asks about my wife, who sometimes stops in on her way home from work to buy me smokes. She always calls me by name, but I never felt right calling her “Jenny.” I guess I was waiting for her to introduce herself … you know, despite the fact that the badge on her shirt was a dead giveaway.
Her face lit up in a smile and she waved when she saw me get in line, and I practically choked up. By the time I made it to the counter, I knew I had to say something.
“The usual?” she asked, proudly presenting the three blue boxes she’d plucked for me.
“Not this time, Jenny,” I squeaked. “You’d better give me a carton.”
“Are you going on another long road trip?” she asked. “And did you really just call me ‘Jenny?’”
“Yeah, I called you Jenny. It’s what the tag says.”
“Sooo … where ya goin’?”
“I’m moving to Pittsburgh, and I don’t know if I’ll be back.”
“What about your wife? Is she going too?”
“She’s coming. Eventually, I think.”
“Where’re you gonna get your cigarettes?” she asked.
“I dunno. I guess I really haven’t thought about it.”
I paid her and said goodbye. She wished me luck as I made my way to the door.
Thank God I don’t have to do that again.
* * * * *
My 37 year-old friend has an ex that drives him crazy, so he never bothered setting up the voicemail on his cell phone. I’ve been trying to call him since Monday, when I found out for sure that I got this job in Pittsburgh. No answer. I let it ring and ring. Eventually, my phone just beeps at me and flashes a “Call Failed” message.
* * * * *
There’s a bar up the street from my office where I’ve been a regular for the last four years. My co-workers and I eat lunch there a few days a week, and if we stop for a few beers before heading home, it’s there that we stop.
When the bartenders, Jen and Kim, started recognizing us by name a couple years ago, it reminded me of when I used to tend bar. I have lent them advice on occasion and sought theirs. They’re good. Sometimes, they even take cash out of their tip bucket and buy us drinks.
They did that yesterday. A friend and I stopped for a late lunch and poured ourselves into our stools.
“Say goodbye to Tony!” he announced.
“Why?”
“He’s movin’ to Pittsburgh!”
“Why?”
“Job,” I said.
We ate and knocked down a few beers before paying the tab.
“Hey! Don’t leave yet. We’re gonna buy you guys a round.”
We stayed and had a couple more.
“Okay … I gotta go,” I said. “I gotta start scouting Pittsburgh bars on the internet.”
“You’ll never replace us,” Jen said.
“Nah. Never gonna happen,” I agreed.
“You’re coming back this week?” Kim asked.
“Every day,” I said. “Stock the Miller Lite extra heavy the next few days. I’m gonna need it.”
* * * * *
My friend, Joe, is engaged to a girl about ten years younger than us. I remember meeting her for the first time about a year ago. He introduced her as his fiancee. It was as happy as I’ve ever seen him.
I called him Monday night to tell him how excited I was about this move and my new job.
“Hey, man,” he answered, sounding exhausted.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” I asked. “You sound beat.”
“I am.”
“So, what’s going on with you?”
“I went to Vegas last month.”
“Awesome! I loved it when I went last year! Did you take the girl?”
“Yeah. We had a great time … together-” his voice faltered.
After a moment, he started again.
“We had a great time, but after we got back, she broke up with me. I didn’t talk to her one day. The next day she showed up, gave me the ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ speech and gave me back the ring.”
“Out of the blue? Like that? That’s harsh,” I said, “even for a woman.”
“I dunno,” he said. “I thought things were going pretty well.”
“So she never said anything, huh? Like, you thought she was happy? That’s fucked.”
“Yeah. It’s fucked up,” he said. “It’s been a month, and I still don’t get it.”
“You’re not going to, buddy. Women do shit like this all the time.”
“She won’t even answer my calls.”
I spent a while in this conversation. I tried not to talk too much and just listen. Every once in a while I tried to encourage him with a line from Swingers. Eventually, I started thinking that the Vegas references were probably doing more harm than good.
I never did get to the move and the new job. Ouch.
* * * * *
So yeah. I start Monday morning. I’m not even sure what kind of temporary housing situation I’ll be walking into, let alone where I’ll buy my cigarettes. This is going to get very interesting very soon.
