Man in Black

Here's a little story I never told anyone before, not even Angus McCloud, the big-ass head bartender at Think-A-Holic Lounge, who is just about the best friend any science fiction author's alter ego could ever have. Bartenders are experts at listening to other people's problems and bullshit stories but I'd never, in a million years, lay this one on ol' Angus. Still, I need to get it off my chest before I head out to the Lounge tonight for a shot or two of think-a-hol and a refreshing bubbly chaser.

Anyway, about two years ago, on a Friday night around 8pm, Eastern Standard Time, Earth Time, I attempted to head out my back door to the Lounge when I was confronted by this... this... man in black... or whatever the hell it was. His formidable figure shadowed over me against the backdrop of the breeze way wall. The bright kitchen ceiling light only made him look more terrible to me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Unbeknownst to him, I secretly snapped his picture with my handy-dandy cell phone camera.

I thought he was one of those government assassins who off people who'd seen UFOs and blabbed about them, like I did more than once or twice on this blog. My god, I thought, a real Man in Black has come to eradicate me once and for all. But all he did was grunt a couple of words that sounded incredibly like "Mallo Cup".

Running to the candy dish I keep on the kitchen counter I returned with a Mallo Cup. Hell, I buy them by the ten-pack. But how did he know that? When I handed it to him he dropped it ceremoniously into the tiny pocket of his shabby black cardigan, tipped his hat and left.

I never saw this guy again but some weird old codger who looks a lot like him was tossed out of Think-A-Holic Lounge one night not long after this. But I put that out of my mind as I headed out to the Lounge, not wanting to be deterred. But, before I shut the door behind me, I ran back inside and grabbed two more Mallo Cups from the candy dish and slipped them into my coat pocket. You never know.

Thanking My Lucky Stars

Cosmic taverns on this side of the space-time continuum pretty much stick together when it comes to keeping undesirables off their bar stools and especially from behind their bars. And Think-A-Holic Lounge is no exception. The Lounge has participated in the Intergalactic Alert Program ever since Angus McCloud, our big-ass head bartender, has been tending bar there. And that’s been well over four hundred years now.

One Wednesday afternoon, as I sat on a stool enjoying my quiet time at the Lounge, this character (see pic) waltzed into Think-A-Holic Lounge like he owned the place. He bellied right up to the bar and told Angus he was from Earth (yeah, right, and I suppose he walked here) and that he was looking for a bartending job. Angus immediately recognized his face from the list of intergalactic alerts that went out just last week.

According to the alert, this kooky-looking stranger was nothing but a freeloader who had tried to get himself jobs in convenience stores and taverns all over the galaxy. Whenever he succeeded, he’d then graze his way into unemployment by eating and drinking as much of the stock as he could. Invariably, he’d get caught and get fired. I sincerely hoped the old bum wouldn’t try to put the bite on me.

Well, Angus didn’t even let this goober’s butt hit the bar stool. Without even saying a word, the big ol’ Scottish ghost tossed the stranger out on his ear. During the scuffle, I had a change of heart and managed to slip a solar sawbuck into the left pocket of this freeloader’s tattered black cardigan. I also snapped this picture of him with my cell phone camera.

I really felt sorry for the old guy. I figured that, if it weren’t for a wee bit of good luck, that old jasper could very well be me. I thanked my lucky stars that the old bum wasn’t me and, with that thought in mind, I quickly ordered a double shot of think-a-hol. Without the usual bubbly chaser.