a timely change of pace: ACT 2

(Ross)
Not two minutes in the door of the swankiest joint I think I’ve ever been allowed in, Jeff pulls the old ‘I’ve lost my wallet’ trick. I had considered the same tactic as we passed through the vestibule, but I guess he beat me to the punch. Now reeling from déjà vu, my mind is working furiously, albeit a now somewhat hampered ferocity, to establish the cause that preempted this effect. Ah yes…clarity comes with an image of myself emptying the contents of my wallet into the eager hands of the taxi driver, as Jeff was attempting to usher me out of the cab at the ferry terminal. I think about how nice it will be to plan something special for Jeff’s next birthday, as he did for me this year. By this point, however, I feel pleasantly numb to most things, and footing yet another bill on our weekend excursion to Victoria is no exception.
A few sips into the proceedings, Jeff lurches to his feet and mumbles something about his wallet. Clearly in no state to be standing up, let alone be walking anywhere near traffic, he makes moves in the general direction of the exit. It is a journey far too perilous for me to let him fly solo and since I need him to get me home again at some point, I decide to be his crutch for the mission. I roll my eyes at Chris and shout after Jeff to wait a second so I can accompany him. I accidentally put my hoody on the wrong way round, and since I hear the muffled chuckles of my company, I decide to play to them, hoping that my stunt might take Jeff’s mind off his troubles. So determined is he to recover his wallet, I begin to wonder if he’s hoping that someone might have put something in it, because I know for a fact that there existed nothing of value in there at any point in the evening.


(Jeff)
We walk up to this classy club in downtown Victoria. Now is my chance to live up to my original purpose of this trip—taking care of the expenses for the sake of Ross’s birthday/poverty.
“Prepare to let your inner-Theo out for grade-A mischief, Ross!” I explain but he still looks confused.
We enter this place and I realize that we must look like transients looking to lick a few discarded dinner plates clean at some fancy banquet. I remember that we hadn’t had time to shave or look at a reflective surface since we’d been running from one location to the next. Then again, I guess I always look like this. I wonder how Ross is handling this threat of being stereotyped? Judging by the one eye rolling in his head, I realize he’s fine with it. Reaching into my pocket I discover that I’ve lost my wallet. Panic sets in. While it’s probably sitting somewhere in Chris’s truck, I think back to how far away we’re parked. I would go back but I can’t remember what my middle name is let alone how to retrace my steps in Victoria.
Surprisingly Ross doesn’t seem to be phased by this dilemma and offers to buy a couple of rounds. Well, I’ve heard that in certain far-off tribes if you don’t accept certain offerings you’ll be beaten unconscious, so I accept.
The night moves to a crawl. I feel like should go find my wallet so I can contribute to our cause. I get up from the table we’re all sitting and announce that I’ve got to go back and find my wallet. I make it a certain distance from the table when I hear Ross.
“I’ll come help you find it,” he yells. “No it’s fine. I’ll be two seconds,” I plead. I don’t feel like losing my buzz in order to make sure Ross doesn’t jump in front of on-coming traffic. But it looks like there’s no convincing him. We all watch him stand up and put his hoody on backwards, with his face covered by the hood. We all laugh at this simple gesture but we stop as soon as we realize this gag has now gone onto minute two. I realize that if we were to help Ross remove this obstacle, we would not find an expression of drunken amusement, but one of genuine infantile fear. Oh man, this was going to be a long journey!


(Ross)
The way I figure, the minute we step out of the pub, we’re lost, so I think we might as well enjoy the trip. Since there’s only the slightest chance we’ll stumble onto the right street, an even slighter one that we’ll recognise Chris’s truck, and not a hope in hell of finding our way back to the pub, I resign myself to the fact that we’ll have to find a comfortable doorstep on which to rest our weary heads when tiredness hits. Jeff’s reluctance to accept this same fact is really doing a number on my buzz, so I look to the many curious and amazing things littered on the roadside, not to mention the friendly passers-by, to avoid being wholly sobered up by the experience.
Remarkably, we do indeed find the Holy Grail that is in the form of a red and muddy Rav-4, but it wouldn’t have been so, had I not first recognised where we stood by using the drummer we’d passed a while ago as a landmark. As Jeff rudely speeds passed our guiding beacon of light and hope, I stop to congratulate him on his drumming prowess and do him the courtesy of having a small chat, before rewarding him for both his talent and his accomplishment of not having moved.
Overjoyed that we have negotiated our journey successfully, and one with little or no incident to boot, I stand patiently nearby while Jeff rummages through the interior of the vehicle. My enthusiasm soon dwindles, with the dawning realization of what a pointless journey it was in the first place. He beams at me when he finds the item he seeks, and I do my best to disguise my apathy about the entire incident. My fist clenches when I see him wretch.


(Jeff)
I’ve never guided a blindfolded circus chimp through a hedgegrove maze before, but I think I can sympathize with any acid freak who claims they have. Ross’s infatuation with shiny objects and human voices is surly beating down my buzz. Ah well, at least the passing crowds find his intrusions adorable. One homeless drummer made a new friend that night. I wonder if this guy could really connect with him, considering Ross’s side of the conversation consisted of “Yay! Drums!” I stop myself and realize that I shouldn’t be in a bad mood; Ross is the one paying the cost for my lost wallet and my lost promise.
Finally we find Chris’s truck and also what I’m looking for. I yell across the street for Ross. As he approaches I feel the intoxication flood back over my relief, and what better way to celebrate this feeling than pulling the old “fake vomit on your friend act.” Switching from joyous shouts and arm waving I quickly go to a theatrical heave on Ross. I stop laughing when I see the face of that once playful chimp turn to a cool-headed Arthur “Fonzie” Fonzarelli.
“You’re lucky, I would have punched you in the head,” he says, more thoughtfully than threateningly. Could this be what draws the line between ballyhoo and insult?
“Really?” I test the waters. “What if I really did it, but it was an accident?”
“Of course I would, and I’d expect the same if I did that to you,” he said in an easy-going manner. This is the most calm and rational debate we’ve had all night.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t.” I stump him and he takes a long time to contemplate this concept. We sit in the truck and have drink over the calm exchange of perspective and everything goes smoothly until the Queen of England is mentioned again.