Karma at 3 A.M.

"Man, don't be such a pussy!"

"Having morals doesn't make me a pussy."

Shane laughs with his mouth full, sending tiny particles of deep-fried chicken flying in my direction. He swallows and says, "You're right, it doesn't. Jesus had morals, and he wasn't a pussy. Jesus had balls. That's why you're a pussy, you have no balls, man!"

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't have run out on his bill at Denny's."

"Man, how can you possibly know that? They didn't even have Denny's in Jesus' time!"

The two of us are sitting in a booth near the back of the nearly empty restaurant, speaking in low tones, almost whispering. It's late, or early; we'd been on the highway for hours before hunger finally forced us to stop. The highway had taken us through a small city, and we spotted a Denny's connected to a hotel. Just two other tables were occupied, and there was only one waitress around.

"If we dine and dash, the money for the food probably comes right out of the waitress' pay. That's a fucked up thing to do to someone. We might as well pick her pocket while we're at it."

Shane rolls his eyes at me. "Oh yeah, I'll feel really bad for ..." he looks over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the waitress' name tag, as she walks quickly by. "...Lisa. She's been giving us shitty service ever since we got here. Spending all her time getting hit on by those cowboy assholes over there. And she never did bring my damn ranch dressing! It would serve her right."

'Lisa' hurries over to a table where three guys in white cowboy hats are talking and laughing, loud, almost shouting. One of them says something to her, which gets an even bigger laugh out of the other two, and earns a flirtatious smack across the brim of his hat from Lisa herself.

I turn back to Shane, shaking my head. "OK, fine, but do you really think she should have to buy us dinner just because she's not very good at her job? How would you feel if I made you buy a round for the crowd every time you hit a wrong note?"

"Every time? Thanks for the self-esteem boost, man." He actually looks hurt, and I feel bad for saying that. He was pretty embarassed over his sloppy work during our show in Saskatoon. Since then, I'd noticed he'd been drinking less before we went on stage.

"Sorry, Shane, I didn't mean ... but you know what I mean. Don't make it sound like this has anything to do with the shitty service. You just don't wanna spend the money."

Shane wipes his mouth with a napkin, crumples it and throws it down onto his now-empty plate. "You're right, I don't! We have to make it from here back to Vancouver on exactly ..." He thinks for a moment, "Ninety-seven dollars and fifty-five cents! And we haven't even gassed up the van yet!" He glances around the restaurant, worried that he's been speaking too loud, then lowers his voice. "You think I want to run out on the bill, like some dead-end stoner kid? I know it's a shitty thing to do, all right? But sometimes you've just gotta suck it up and do what you have to do. Those are the sacrifices we make for art, man!"

I'm slowly and systematically shredding my own napkin. "It's bad karma. And if we want people to actually pay money to hear us play, we could use some good karma."

Shane is starting to look truly exasperated. "What the fuck are you talking about, karma? I'm talking about getting us and our equipment all the way to Vancouver from ..." He frowns. "Where are we, again?"

I have to think about it for a second, myself. "Credit Hills, I think."

"Anyway, from the middle of the fucking prairies! Karma, or fate, or pixie dust or magical elves aren't going to get us there! When we're back at our Joe-jobs in Vancouver, we can pay for our food like good little citizens. But right now, we need every cent we have, man!"

I sigh, dropping the remains of my napkin onto my plate. "Okay, okay, fine. I'll do it."

Shane smiles like a little kid. "That's what I'm talking about, man! We can do this, trust me! We've just gotta make like we're going to the bathroom, out in the hotel lobby, and we duck outside instead. I'll go first, then you come next, so it doesn't look suspicious. We're parked right around the corner of the building, so once we're outside we should be golden. Lisa's so busy batting her eyes at the fucking cowboys, we'll be halfway to the BC border by the time she even notices we're gone."

I don't share his optimism; our van has seen better days, and it would be just our luck to break down in the parking lot, while Lisa sends the cowboys after us like something out of fucking Deliverance. But I nod, for Shane's benefit.

Shane's getting up already, apparently not wanting to give me the chance to change my mind. "It'll be fine, dude." And he's off, walking down the aisle, past the front counter, into the hotel lobby, and out the door. I wait a couple minutes, then get up from the table and begin walking towards the front of the restaurant. Lisa the server is leaning over the cowboys' table, her back to me. I can hear her laughing at whatever the boys are saying. Shane was right, I could be naked except for an oversized sombrero and she still wouldn't notice me. I'm just about to pass the cash register, and from there it's just a couple steps to the door. Shane gives me a thumbs-up from outside the glass front doors. As I arrive at the counter, I hesitate for a second or two, then call out, "Excuse me?"

Lisa turns around, looking irritated. I make a point of not turning to look at Shane, outside the door; but I'm sure he looks like he wants to kick me in the balls.

Lisa walks over to the counter, looking almost as pissed off as Shane probably is. I put on a smile that I hope looks authentic. "Could I pay the bill?"

"Of course, sorry about the wait." Lisa tries on an awkward smile herself. I don't think she's pulling it off as well as I am, but at least she's making the effort.

"No problem." I can feel Shane's eyes drilling through the glass and into the back of my head.

I pay the bill and walk out the door, as Lisa heads back over to the cowboys' table. Shane is standing there waiting for me, and once the door closes behind me, he lets loose.

"Man, what the fuck was that? I thought we had a fucking agreement!"

"I'm sorry Shane, I just couldn't do it."

"All I can say to you," Shane begins as we round the corner of the building, "is you're gonna miss that twenty bucks when ..."

He trails off and stops walking, just stands in the parking lot and stares straight ahead. I'm about to ask him if he's alright, when a thought occurs to me.

"Shane ... where did we park, again?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at the ground in front of us. Now I notice broken glass scattered across the white lines of the parking spaces.

I start to ramble. "Oh. Oh, man, oh, shit ..."

Beside me, Shane moans, "My fucking guitar, man ..."

My brain had still been processing the fact that our piece of shit van had been stolen, leaving us stranded. It hadn't moved on to the additional fact that all of our equipment had been inside the van.

"Oh, for Christ's sakes ..."

Shane stands beside me, not moving, not saying anything else, although he seems to be making some kind of sputtering noise, like a kettle that's almost ready to boil. Finally he spins around, red in the face, and bellows, "WHAT HAPPENED TO FUCKING KARMA, MAN?!?"

He stumbles around in a semi-circle, kicks an empty beer can halfway across the parking lot, then half-sits, half-collapses on the curb.

I can't come up with anything to say that won't sound stupid, so I just sit down on the curb beside Shane. I'm thinking about my keyboards, about how amazing they sounded, and about the billions of hours I'd spent bussing tables to pay for them. I feel dazed.

After some time, I say, "Guess I'd better call the cops ..."

"Can you hold off a minute on that, man?" Shane takes a joint out of one of his jacket pockets. "I could really stand to burn one right now."

I sigh. "That's not a bad idea."

Shane lights the joint and we pass it back and forth, still sitting on the curb, not saying anything. The cowboys, the ones who had been hitting on Lisa, come around the corner of the building into the parking lot, walking towards an expensive-looking SUV. They glance over their shoulders at us as they pass by. One of them says something, and the other two laugh. Shane and I finish the joint as the cowboys drive away, gunning the engine on their way past us.

My eyes follow the SUV out of the parking lot. I turn to look at Shane. I'm almost scared to say it. "Umm ... are you still hungry?"

Shane actually laughs. "Yeah ... Yeah, man, I am! Fuck, does Denny's ever suck!"


Copyright Peter Byrne 2009

With thanks to Lindsay Field and Ethan van Winkle