Same Old Story

Lost in Translation

Nebula / Nebbish

Maybe I've seen too many movies — who can say? — but last Saturday night, Earth Time, I became part of a hideous, twisted parody of the movie "Victor Victoria", that glitzy 1982 flick where Julie Andrews plays a woman pretending to be a man who's pretending to be a woman. Or something to that effect.

Anyway, it was close to last call when I came back from the male species room at Think-A-Holic Lounge and found one of those energy creatures (see pic) occupying the space above my barstool, where my own head would have been. I was glad I'd already relieved myself because just the sight of another patron in my spot pissed me right off. And I don't piss off easily.

Now, you'd figure he or she or whatever it was must have seen the Solar singles and Fins and Sawbucks on the bar, right beside my half empty shot of think-a-hol and the nearly full schooner of Buxx Brew, a bubbly chaser made from malt, hops and buck-rub bark from north central Pennsylvania, back on planet Earth. Buxx Brew has the opposite effect of the standard pilsner beer. While the regular suds eventually makes every woman on Earth look like Kim Basinger in her prime, Buxx Brew makes every female creature in the universe look like Ernest Borgnine. We drink it for our own good, not because we like it.

Anyway, I ignored the fact that this idiot energy cloud was in my spot, smack dab in front of my drinks and my money, because Angus McCloud, our big-ass head bartender, hates any kind of nasty scene right at the bar. So, I automatically assumed that this energy creature was a female creature because, even though males outnumber females elebenty-leben to one at Think-A-Holic Lounge, the most desperate lounge lizards among us are eternally optimistic about finding Ms. Right sitting on a bar stool somewhere. The average guy from Earth outgrows this ridiculous fantasy by age thirty but I've never been known for doing the right thing at the right time in my entire life. So, I figured, why start now?

"So, are you from around here?" I asked the amorphous entity.

"Whaddaya want from me?" it protested. Its voice sounded male and defensive. "I'm a nebula. I'm allowed in here."

"Sure you are. I'm, Jonco," I said politely, wanting to shake hands but a nebula has no hands.

"And I suppose this is your personal bar stool," it said, a slight feminine whine creeping into its voice.

"No, it's only mine as long as my money and my drinks are in front of it," I said, starting to get even more pissed off than I already was.

'There!" it snapped. "There's your money! There's your drinks! There's your money!" This nebula from hell began sliding and pushing and shoving the bills and change and sloshing the drinks. The male tone of voice was back but the whining was more high-pitched and annoying than before.

"Not so fast, pal," I said, trying to remain calm and collected. "I was going to buy you a drink but now you can buy me one to make up for all the think-a-hol and Buxx Brew you just spilled."

"Oh, sure," it said, suddenly sounding like a defensive middle-aged woman with an axe to grind. "The story of my life. Every guy I meet thinks I'm Ms. Money Bags."

"Wait a minute..." I stuttered, losing my grip on reality.

"Whaddaya, whaddya?" said the male side of the nebula again. "I travel fifty million miles a day. I'm selling encyclopedias to a galaxy that gets all its information online. On top a that, my boss wants me to retire and...and my wife's sneaking around with a younger nebula... and you're gonna rob me?"

"Take it easy, buddy," I said, feeling this Nebula/Nebbish nightmare rapidly becoming a cosmic reality. "Here. Let me buy you a drink after all." I looked around for Angus but he was busy washing glasses. He finally saw me and I pointed to the living anomaly sitting beside me and Angus nodded back. "What's that you're drinking?" I asked the paranoid salesman/saleswoman.

"What's to drink?" said the woman side of the thing. "I don't know you from Adam."

Then the nebula began to dissipate right before my eyes but not before I heard its male and female sides arguing with each other. I was stupefied, impressed and bewildered all at the same time. I was also speechless and unable to move.

"Never bring me here again," whined the female nebula. "Besides, you'd rather be with that what's-her-face anyway, wouldn't you?"

"Ya had da ask?" replied the sarcastic nebbish. Then the scary trans-nebula was gone. And so was I.

Lost in Translation

Last Wednesday around six o'clock I rolled down the steps of Think-A-Holic Lounge a little later than usual from having my afternoon shot of think-a-hol and a bubbly chaser. And that was because I'd had several of them in a row and that kind of dedicated imbibing takes a wee bit of time.

Anyway, across the alley I spotted this sorry-looking jasper (see pic) sitting in front of an old abandoned garage that had been slated for demolition sometime in the last century but which remained standing due to a lack of code enforcement in this part of the galaxy. I felt sorry for the old coot and asked him if he needed a ride somewhere.

"No hablo Español," he replied without even looking my way and despite the fact that I had spoken to him in English, not Spanish.

I thought I'd try asking him the same question again, even though he still refused to look me squarely in the eye.

"Je ne comprends pas le français," the old coot said, still not looking at me. Why he thought I was speaking French was beyond me. I tried to ask him if he needed a ride anywhere one more time. And in English, again, because that's the only language I know.

"Ich verstehe nicht Deutsches," he replied in fluent German.

That did it for me. I had no intentions of asking him any more questions. I was actually more miffed by his refusal to look at me than by his insistence that I was speaking to him in languages other than English. I decided to approach him and see if that would make him look at me. But, when I stood right in front of him, I could see that the crazy old codger was asleep. And with his eyes open.

I left him there as he began to snore. Then I went home and profusely thanked my lucky stars that the old man on the bench was not me.