I don’t know how it really happened, but at some point, Marshall’s became our bar of choice. The “our” I referred to is comprised of Ray, Forrest and myself; Zeb. The three of us met on the campus of The Ohio State University in the fall of 2004 and built a strong friendship. So, as we wrapped up our respective academic careers and found big-boy jobs (not Frisch’s Big Boy) in the Columbus area, it made sense for us to find an apartment together. We settled in Grandview, a small suburb closer than any other suburb to downtown Columbus and also only a couple miles from campus.
The further removed we became from our time at college, the less we found it necessary to visit bars on campus and eventually, we began scouting out the local bar scene because it’s just easier, logistically. We had all been to Marshall’s prior to living in Grandview, but really grew to love the place after we located ourselves more closely to it. Also, their Happy Hour lasts until 9:00pm (domestics for $1.75), which was the main attraction. I know I said last paragraph that I wasn’t sure how Marshall’s came to be our bar of choice. I now remember: it’s because of the Happy Hour thing. Ray works from home, so I always send him the feeler-text first.
“sup?”
“? U?” Ray said, always quick to respond.
“Marshall’s?”
“yep. Forrest in?”
“dunno. Ask him when he gets home.” Forrest usually returned from work about a half hour before myself, so I thought they’d have time to sort everything out.
“Hurry up. I wanna get some beer.” Ray texted.
“LET’S GET SOME BEER!!!!!” I like to text in frat-guy-talk from time to time.
Alas, my workweek ended mercifully, on time and I’m released to navigate highway heroes (people who think driving one-mph-under to four-mph-over the speed limit merits third-lane usage) and construction-induced traffic on 670 before entering our third-story apartment.
“ZEBBY!!!!!!” Both roommates harmonize.
“RAYIEEE!!!! FORRESTY!!!!!! LET’S GET SOME BEER!!!!!!!!!” I reestablished my text.
Another inside joke between the three of us is how excited we always act before going to Marshall’s. I mean, we like Marshall’s but we also know, when we go to Marshall’s, the three of us will sit at one table, drink a handful of beers, come back to our apartment around 11pm and watch a movie on HBO On Demand while we nod off one-by-one. I guess it’s probably not a great joke if I feel the need to explain it, but the point is it’s not exactly the kind of event that would require several exclamation points, spoken or texted.
We enter Marshall’s, pass the indoor pond consisting of oversized goldfish (that’s not a metaphor or anything) and find our table at the other side of the middle room (Marshall’s contains three rooms on one story).
A pretty waitress greets us and takes our drink orders. It’s three Bud Lights. She asks if we need menus but Ray and Forrest have already eaten and I know I want the Reuben.
“No, I think we’re okay on menus, but can I get the Reuben?” See? I told ya.
A couple minutes later the waitress returns with our Bud Light and the three of us settle into what would normally be a pretty forgettable night.
“How was work, you guys? Did you really enjoy driving to and from work today?” Ray asked.
“It was pretty nice. Did you enjoy sitting in our apartment all day, yet again?” Forrest said.
“I did. I really did.”
“Do you ever worry that working from home might retard your social skills?” I said.
“Retard?” Forrest and Ray said.
“Yeah, like to slow down the or regress your social skills?” I said.
“Well, I don’t use the word ‘retard’ in conversations yet, so I think my social skills are still okay,” Ray said.
“Well done.” Forrest said.
“Touche.” I admitted being bested.
Our waitress made her way back to our table. “You guys ready for another round?” she asked. We each gave our own version of “yes” and she left to retrieve the booze. We took the opportunity to down the remainder of our first drinks. She dropped off round two and away she went to check on other tables.
“That waitress always looks really good by the time we leave.” I said
“She looks pretty good when we get here, too, Zebby.” Ray said.
“That’s a fair point.”
“Are we gonna do this thing where we start talking about which bartenders may or may not be out of our league again?” Forrest said.
“Should we? I think we should.” Ray said.
“I don’t think we should. It retards my confidence.” Forrest said.
“It’s a fun conversation.” Ray said.
“That’s a great word.” I said.
“What are we doing this weekend? Go home tonight and watch a movie. Wake up tomorrow and sit there until we sit here and then go home and watch a movie. Wake up on Sunday and watch TV until we watch a movie and then go to bed and wake up for work in the morning?” Forrest said.
“That sounds sweet. I’m in.” I raised my hand in order to offer Forrest the opportunity of a super-douchy high-five. He refused.
“Seriously. We should do something.”
“What do you want to do, sweetheart?” Ray said.
“I was thinking about this: We all watch so much TV. Let’s just make a short film. Like five minutes, or something.”
“For what. Who would see it?” I said.
“We would see it. It could be fun. It’s not like we’d be doing anything less productive with our time if we tried this.” Forrest said.
“I gotta admit, 12 seconds ago I was very skeptical about this idea. I’m in. Let’s do it.” I said.
“I agree. This will be fun.” Ray said. “So, what’s it gonna be about.”
“That’s a good question. Maybe we could plan that out tomorrow and Sunday and maybe try to have a script by next weekend.” Forrest said.
“Yeah, but while we’re here talking, let’s get the creative juices flowing.” I said.
“Does anyone have a camera?” I asked.
“I have an iPhone.” Ray shrugged.
“Oh, this project is practically filming itself.” I said.
The waitress returned. Based on how long that last conversation would have taken, we realistically drank that beer very quickly.
“Another round?”
“Yes. We’re hatching a serious idea right now and it’s definitely gonna take a few more brews.” Ray said.
“What’s this idea?” the waitress asked.
The three of us exchanged quick glances and telepathically agreed that to anyone besides the three of us, the idea would probably sound extremely lame.
“It’s top secret. We’re only allowed to say that we’re hatching an idea right now. We can’t get into any of the deets.” I said.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with your beers.” She said and walked away.
“Our bartender is out of your league, Zebby.” Ray said.
“Shit. The actual idea we’re ‘hatching’ is less losery than what you told her. Did you both have to say the word ‘hatching’?” Forrest said.
“At least Zebby didn’t say ‘retard’ again.”
“Guys. It’s not like I’m using it in a derogatory way… it’s not offensive.”
“Still probably in poor taste.” Forrest said.
“Fine, I’ll stop saying retard.” I said. “So, what should this thing be about?”
“I don’t know. Let’s make it about nothing. That’s what Seinfeld did.” Forrest said.
“Yeah, from episode to episode it was about nothing. You still need a plot for a singular episode. You couldn’t just film us watching TV for five minutes. Or could you? That would be about nothing.” Ray said.
“Well, where do we want to film this?” I said.
“Might as well not worry about that until we decide what it’s gonna be about.” Forrest said.
“That’s the thing. Maybe an idea of where we want the thing to take place will elicit an idea for the story. Like, if we wanted it to be filmed here, it would be about me not talking to girls. If we wanted it to take place at a carnival, it could be about Ray throwing up on a ferris wheel.” I said.
“Hmm. That’s a good point.” Forrest said, rubbing his lips with his thumb and forefinger. “I like where we’re at. We’re off to a good start. What a great idea by me, Forrest.”
