The Last Straw

It came out of the blue - a call from Fred Freddie. Fred was in town and suggested that we get together for a bull session, crack open a few and perhaps bum around a little. Fred Freddie? The name didn’t ring a bell. Should I hang up? Hold the phone, it dawned on me that Fred was indeed a friend - a Facebook friend. A bosom buddy of mine had suggested that I ‘friend’ him. Actually it was a bum steer and I had been planning to ‘unfriend’ this character. How in hell did he latch on to my number? I’d like to tell him to go piss up a rope but that wouldn’t cut the mustard. After all, I was the one who friended him. I wimped out and stammered that I would meet him for drinks at Mulligan’s.

Fred didn't bother to ask for directions. He claimed that his schnoz worked like a GPS when it came to bars. True to his word, Fred showed up , plopped himself at the bar and got down to business. As the sun turned into the moon, I kept thinking that shooting the bull with this guy was like talking to a wall and that if I was not careful I‘d end up pissed to the gills. We kept tipping a few while shooting the breeze and ended up burning the midnight oil.

It turned out that the guy drinks like a fish. Before the last call I was ready for the last rites but Fred insisted that we have one for the road. Man, he was already as drunk as a skunk. I told him that we should hit the road which made him blow his top and give me what for. Fred Freddie staggered out of Mulligan’s without even a goodbye. To add insult to injury he left me stuck with the bar tab. That was the last straw. After plunking down a few twenties I resolved that this would not happen to me again. The next morning I closed my Facebook account. I no longer have any friends - just buddies.