In Which RG Sells His Soul

6:00 AM Sunday morning.

It’s quiet here in the desert on this already sizzling Sunday—88º and if the local weather wags are to be believed we’re on our way to 111º today.

And, based on sixteen years experience here in Las Vegas, when it comes to predicting heat, I believe them.

I’m up early because...well, I don’t really know why.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.

When I woke up at 5:30 I immediately began thinking of all the things I had to accomplish today and realized with grudging clarity that my mind was, yet again, dictating my sleep schedule.

Don’t you just hate that? I mean the way your mind overrides your body’s need for sleep, jumping up and down, flapping its arms and screaming, “Up! Get up! We’ve got stuff to do! Come on, you slug-a-bed!”

So, I grabbed my computer, the Sunday fishwrap, aka the local paper, and headed out for my favorite St. Arbuck’s for some reading, writing and ruminating.

Pulling in to the parking lot I noticed a group of people seated in a rough semi-circle in front of the establishment’s front door—people who vaguely resembled the staff.

I parked my SUV, got out and walked toward the dour looking assemblage and realized with some consternation that it was, indeed, the Sunday morning staff.

Noticing that all the lights were off inside the store, I said, “Did I not get the memo?”

The manager just shook his head and smiled wearily. “Our water is turned off.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know,” replied a barista with a tired yawn. “I got here at 4:00 AM to open, went inside and there was no water.”

“And no water, no coffee!” said the manager bitterly.

I asked, “What are you going to do?”

“We’re waiting for a plumber to show up, and providing feeble excuses to our regular customers as to why they can’t have their morning coffee,” the manager said with a wry grin.

I was immediately torn between my pressing need for caffeine and the voyeuristic desire to pull up a chair to watch the drama that would undoubtedly unfold.

“Well,” I said. “As much as I’d love to stick around and watch you practice crowd control, I gotta go.”

“Bye, RG,” said the group in dreary unison as they turned their attention to the next staggering coffee enthusiast.

“Enthusiast” is a word I routinely substitute for “addict.” It sounds so much more palatable.

Back in my car, I sorted through a list of options, which included, but were not limited to, going home and actually making a pot of coffee; going next door to the bagel shop...okay, I was kidding about those two. I’m such a kidder sometimes. I often crack myself up I’m such a kidder.

I drove out of the parking lot and went up the street to my backup St. Arbuck’s; parked my car and walked toward the front entrance.

Much to my surprise and utter vexation, the front door was closed and locked!

I peeked in through the window and spied the craven staff huddling behind the counter—in the dark—casting furtive glances my way.

“We’re closed,” mouthed the lily-livered manager with an awkward grin.

I looked around the immediate area to see if I was on one of those “Gotcha!” videos or something.

I was not.

It was real.

They were closed.

The manager finally came out of hiding and walked toward the door.

“Our sewer...” something, something,  “and we can’t open.”

I said, “You’re kidding!”

She stood on the other side of the glass and just shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it’s not the end of the world. You could just go over to...”

“They’re closed too!” I said, probably louder than necessary.

“What?”

I nodded my head vigorously in reply.

She turned and yelled the information to the rest of the staff, who, in turn slunk deeper into the darkness.

“Well,” she said with an attempt at an encouraging smile. “Good luck,” before turning and, with a little wave over her shoulder, joining her spineless, cowering staff.

I hollered, “At least the other guys had the courage...” they weren’t listening, so I just turned around and stomped back to my car.

I was in a tight spot!

I had to have coffee and I had to have it soon.

“Ah-ha!” said I, as a realization suddenly wormed its way into my consciousness.

I say, “Ah-ha!” a lot when encountering a brilliant thought.

While I hadn’t been there in a while, I knew of another St. Arbuck’s less than a mile away.

“Perfect!”

With a renewed sense of purpose I drove toward caffeine heaven, confident that my drowsiness would soon be addressed and eliminated.

You can imagine the sense of mind-numbing horror when I drove by my last bastion of hope and saw a sign in the darkened window proclaiming that a kabob restaurant was “coming soon.”

“What the heck is going on?” I said out loud to absolutely no one.

I panicked! Beads of cold sweat began to coat my brow as my mind cast desperately about for a solution to the situation at hand.

While it shames me to admit it, figurative tail between my legs I did what anyone in such a tenuous position would’ve done.

You know, the coffee at the golden arches isn’t really all that bad.