Sasstastic Volume 1: Thursday

I managed to convince my boss that I had to leave at 2:30 on Thursday. This wasn't too hard when he remembered that Sass was coming to town, and that I still had some cleaning to do. I busted out of the garage with my new rollers as quickly as possible. I sped home, dropped off the rollers and got to cleaning the kitchen, the last bastion of dirtiness. Well, the part that I could get reasonably clean in the allotted time. I also put my flannel sheets in the washer, so they'd be nice and clean to keep us warm.

I lost track of time, as I am apt to do when I take off my watch when I'm cleaning with harsh chemicals. I swore, grabbed everything I needed and ran to the car. it was 4:15 before I got on the road, and I had to be at O'Hare at 4:59 to pick up Sass. I hopped in the car, drove like a madman to get past the 90/94 merge (see map), where traffic is a real bitch and a half, then cruised through to O'Hare. I had to use mnemonics to remember where I parked. Section 12, because it was December, Subsection D for Dave 32, 'cuz I'm 32. I went dashing through the underground passageways, most under construction, before I got to Terminal 3's baggage claim, the pre-arranged meeting place.

I had already written her that I would be wearing a red shirt and a green jacket, but then I remembered that almost nobody recognizes me if they're not accustomed to seeing me in work clothes, and vice versa for casual clothes. I opted, before leaving, to change my work clothes into jeans and a hockey sweater. Kitchener Rangers, to be precise. I correctly figured that she'd know who they were. I was to look for the woman with the bottle of Macallan in her hand, which, by the by, is both of our favorite scotch, or sketch, as we call it.

I waited, checking my watch profusely. Checking the arrivals board every few seconds to make sure I was in the right place. Eventually, I got zen and just zoned out. Finally, I see her walk towards the claim area. We met, and she produced a silver bag. Not really surprising me, but damned if she didn't have a liter bottle of Macallan.

This, as I've mentioned before, scores many, many points on the Dave scale of coolness.

We stopped for a smoke before heading back into the city, which took less time than I had imagined. We stopped at home and opened the bottle before heading to the Globe for dinner and drinks before karaoke started. We stayed, we sang, we drank. Someone bought shots, which Sass sipped. She discovered that Chicago does not yet have a smoking ban. We never really got around to a true duet, but we still shared the stage. I had forgotten, as the previous time we were together singing karaoke we were substantially drunk, what a great singer Sass is.

I, as usual, did Johnny Cash, this time it was Folsom Prison Blues. I introduced myself this time by saying "Hello, I'm wearing white socks." It was true, too. I was wearing white socks. Somehow, to me, it was funny. At some point someone had put in Every Rose has its Thorn for someone else, he didn't know it, so he sang a duet with me for my signature song. It was fun, and boy am I glad I had Friday off.

Next up, the story of Sass and Dave's Friday adventures.