This was the last weekend for a guy I knew twenty two years ago. He didn’t know this was his last weekend. It was the last weekend that he took his dogs for a walk at Prospect Park. It was the last weekend when he held his newborn baby in his arms. It was the last weekend he did dad stuff with his older children. It was the last weekend that he laid in bed next to the woman he loved.
On this weekend twenty two years ago I woke up next to a girl I had been dating for just about a year. We jumped on the el train in Oak Park and went up to Old Towne. It was the weekend of the Art Fair and the Guinness Oyster festival. My buddy Danny Boy Haas owned a condo on Halsted street just above the Oyster fest. So he obviously had to throw a party.
My girlfriend’s mom was at the art fair with her sister and a couple friends. They stopped by Danny’s party at one point. Danny turned to me and said that my future mother in law’s friend was smoking hot. He was right about one thing. That lady became my future mother in law. I’m not sure what ever happened to the hot friend.
Located just south of Danny’s condo was the Village Cycle Center. It was about 3:30pm and I had been drinking since 10:30am.
Why not buy a bicycle?
So I did!
A drunk eight hundred dollar purchase in the middle of a crowded Chicago festival. I wheeled my new bike through the crowd and up the stairs to Danny Boy’s flat. Luckily Amy Weaver was at Danny’s. She had an SUV big enough to drive me, my girlfriend and my new bike back to Oak Park.
Monday morning arrived and I climbed into the five year note pit at the Chicago Board of Trade. I put on my headset and called my cash trader and checked in with his broker in New York.
The broker in New York was always busting my balls. He asked me what I did over the weekend. I told him I bought a new bike. He asked me if I could ride my new bike through tight spaces. I told him I wheeled it through a tight crowd and up a narrow stairway.
He replied that it must have been difficult doing that with a bike that had a seat as big as a city park bench. Because the bike guy must have had a hard time finding a bike seat big enough for the Jumbo butt.
“Ahhhh…. Go fuck yourself Jimmy!”
That’s all I could come up with…. because he was right. Typical smart ass Irish prick from Brooklyn.
I didn’t know it on that Monday morning that Jimmy had about twenty four hours left to bust my balls. He had just about twenty four hours left to walk his dogs, hold his baby boy, be a dad and be a lover.
The next morning Muslim terrorists drove an airplane across the top of Jimmy’s trading desk.
8,033 days later and I still have that bike. I married and divorced that girlfriend. She gave me three beautiful kids and Danny boy and Amy are still a couple of my closest friends.
8,033 days have gone and Jimmy’s newborn is finishing college.
8,033 days from now gets me into September of 2045. I’ll be seventy nine fucking years old.
I sure hope I can still get my big ass on the park bench bike seat. My grandchildren will be busting my balls about my bike from the turn of the century.
Can I tell Fritz junior and little John Shepley to go fuck themselves?
“”Mommy…. Daddy! Grampa Jumbo just told us to go fuck ourselves?””
Live this weekend as if you’ll be going to heaven on Tuesday morning. Breath the air and hug the people. Bust your friend’s balls. Take the dogs for a walk. Ride your bike around the neighborhood.
Put the smile on the sun!!
