Knock, knock.

Someone was pounding on my door.

The sound jarred me from the deep comforting darkness of sleep..

Jefe: wha the fah? [it being too early for hard consonants]

I groaned. My head hurt...

I blearly focused my eyes until the red haze of my alarm clock coalesced into legible numerals

8:15

Jefe: hmph.. yeah righ..

I rolled over and burrowed.

Unfortunately it seemed that I wouldn't be going back to sleep. The combination of my head and the taste in my mouth were not conducive to the gentle loss of consciousness.

I started to mull over the question of who the hell could want me at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday... At first I had assumed it was my landlord come to tell me he was off on a one of his vacations. Wanting me to bring in the mail and the paper. That's the kind of relationship we have, we pick up each other's mail and try not to bother each other. I reckon that that's about as good as it gets.

But wait. My landlord is like 85 and certainly doesn't pound on the door like the poe-poe...

wtf?

Jefe: Snougrhsa! [sound of me whipping head from pillows while sucking in air] WH!

We had planned to take a day trip to the beach that day…

I jerked out of bed and stumbled towards the door.. I blearily navigated through the obstacle course of crap littering my floor, noticed my cell phone vibrating, and finally wrenched open the door cringing against sunlight and the fresh air…

WH was still there sitting on my porch

… whew…

Jefe: [cognizant he’s standing only in boxers, crazy hair, and scrunched face] Sorry man

WH: [smirk] s’cool….

[The Night before]

Setting: A charming bungalow yards from campus. N & E had invited the crew over for the usual pre-Hell dance party mixer.

The DJs are part of our posse so we usually meet at N & E’s, have a few drinks, and then go to the dance party at the local dive. We drink, we walk, we dance. Recipe for success.

That night the Jefe sauntered in with one of his fav buddies to find the party in full swing. We were naturally greeted by a chorus of cheerful hello’s and how-dees .

As is my custom I immediately walked by the living room towards the kitchen.

Jefe: “What’s to drink?” [I was the feckless fiend who had arrived empty handed. Shame reader, shame]

Cheerful: “I brought SCOTCH!”

Ah.

A note on Cheerful: Cheerful and his partner Rather Reserved are couple of decent fellows to be sure. Well liked by all.

They are however, super light-weights.

Can’t handle their drink.

Should.

Not. Never.

Associate or Attempt to Match the Jefe when the Jefe becomes jovial in his spirits.

Here reader we come to the crux of the problem, the moment where things probably took a turn for the worse. You know, two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one with lots of rocks and pebbles that make you stumble and weave like a drunken lout etc.

Ah reader, but it is fact that the Jefe loves his Scotch. There is no hiding it.. No denying it. I was so touched that somebody would bring his Scotch for all to enjoy that I immediately poured myself a generous tot and toasted their generous nature.

After a few of those, I deemed it my responsibility to hand down a modicum of stern advice:

A) One should only buy Single Malt Scotch

B) One should only buy Scotch from good Scottish distilleries and not bottles with grinning seamen on the label.

Although it was my duty to impart such knowledge, I of course felt so aggrieved when Cheerful apologized for his selection that I insisted on drinking more to assure him that everything was alright.

Afterwards I felt it ill advised and very unagreeable to sully my palette with any thing other than more Scotch.

Yaddah Yaddah Yaddah in that vein.

I can only say that at least I had the presence of mind to eat a sandwich.

[Back to WH and the next morning]

As I blearly pulled myself together, pulled on my togs, and rounded up my gear, the events of the night began to come back to me.

Jefe: [yelling to the next room grinning] Hey WH, betch you thought your old buddy forgot you huh?

WH: [surveying the damage of my apt] mmmm

Jefe: [still grinning] Check the kitchen.

WH walks in. A cheer of “hells yeah” echoes from that room.

Somehow, someway I managed to fill a cooler with beer and ice after the club and before I went to bed. (that's another story)

Of Course I'd left the nozzle open and water was all over the kitchen floor...

That's why the Jefe rents
El Jefe