I used to shoot pool down at the Drunken Sasquatch, the local watering-hole over on 15th frequented by those of us who travel in…different…circles.
But not anymore. I’m no longer welcome there, and it’s not my fault. I warned Alfredo that I don’t handle certain substances well.
But no, he just had to see if I was truthin’ when I said that…which I was.
But how is it only my responsibility?
When a person says they can’t handle a certain substance, don’t sneak it into their glass. I spit it out as soon as I recognized the tongue-tingling zing, but it was too late—I’d swallowed some.
So now I’m liable for a table and several chairs, the burn marks on the floor, and Sylvia Wannamaker’s new coat.
That’s okay, I do have a bit of gold stashed. But the embarrassment—to say nothing of being no longer allowed to play in November’s pool tournament—
I may not get over that anytime soon.
I’m just going to say it once.
The Unfairness of Life © Connie J Jasperson 2016, All Rights Reserved
Originally published on Life in the Realm of Fantasy Oct.9, 2015 under the title, The Unfairness of Life