2011ltm: Fast Food

“Medium soda,” I told her, poking her hip with the thumb I’d looped through her sweater’s buttonhole. “Josephine,” I stage-whispered, “fast-food medium is huge.” Josephine smiled at our mom. I continued to bounce between them until Mom, shaking her head with the same smile I’d just seen on my sister, handed me one of the cups.
I skipped across the floor to the soda fountain, delighted by the sticky floor because the sound my shoes made against it reminded me of a scene from Aristocats. It made me feel like a cartoon villain, skulking around on a secret mission. “A suicide,” I whispered to myself, and pressed the first button on the left. I stood there nodding gravely at it, then widened my eyes and yelped. “But be careful!”—the cup was half full already. I licked beads of cola off my hands, relishing its carbonated prickle. Then looked both ways. Shot my head to the left: blinked twice: then sssloowwwwly swung it back over to the right: blinked twice again. Crossed my arms and nodded, sagely. “Hmmm.” A theatrical performance, for only myself. In company I was too shy to be as charming as I thought myself when alone. Possibly I used up all my good material when only expecting to meet new people, and by the time I did would be bored of myself, and everyone else by extension. I did it especially at times like that, as if it were a dress rehearsal.
Nobody looking? Good. I dumped most of the soda out of my cup, and licked some more beads off my hand. As long as nobody was looking, I told myself, I might as well skip Diet Coke—which was just like the real stuff, but only for people who hate themselves.
Next was orange Fanta. You only get one chance to screw up, with suicides; I would have to refine my technique. Once there’s more than one soda in there, you can’t just dump some out if you get the proportions wrong. I took a deep breath and mouthed one, two, three.
Orange Fanta—raspberry Brisk—Sierra Mist. Good! I took a break and wiped pretend sweat off my forehead. Stuck my tongue out, miming panting.
Suddenly a great rushing noise. A pair of white velcro shoes and khakis had come out of nowhere, and switched on the regular Coke; I jumped. “Sorry sir.” I said it so quiet he noticed nothing. Drat! Always doing things like that, Celia. I touched my face with my soda-cold hand, worrying I must be oranger than Fanta. Won’t get away with it much longer, you know, at twelve years old.
Alright, the coast was clear; back to work. Not too much left: just lemonade, Gatorade, Dr. Pepper. One-two-three. Go!—I had it. Some Dr. Pepper overflowed onto my hand, but I licked it off.
Dr. Pepper was one of those sodas that never tasted good at home. I had an uncle who liked it; every year two days before Thanksgiving we’d buy him a three-liter, and I would eye that thing until there was pie to eye instead. He’d come over, day of, and drink maybe a glass and a half. After he left it’d go up for grabs, a lonely buoy at the back of the fridge bobbing up over cute orange-white-blue dishes of leftovers with their tops fogged up, so hard to reach I’d forget about it ‘til four days later, at which point instead of “Don’t drink your uncle’s soda” it’d be, “Isn’t anyone going to drink this?”—and I would step in: “Oh, me! I love Dr. Pepper,” and then be disappointed. So maybe that was why: at home I’d only had it flat. Fresh it wasn’t bad, though it still tasted sorta medicinal. I wondered if that’s where they got the name.
“Where have you been,” my sister asked, when I got to the table.
“Getting this”—I shoved it towards her and some slopped over the edge. “Sorry!” She yelped and pulled her hands up off the table in a flash; Mom dove in with napkins; Vinny swore. “Sorry, sorry.” It wasn’t a big deal, I didn’t think. None got in the food, just on the burger paper. I watched the brown soak darker brown into brown napkins, and bit my fist.
“Celia….”
“Sorry. Sheesh!”
“No it’s alright Celia,” Mom said. “Look—see? We got it. Don’t get upset.”
“I’m not!” (Josephine snorted an abortive laugh.) “Well I’m not,” I told her, dropping my hands and staring her in the face. “Not upset. See?”
“Good,” interjected Mom, who’d just got back from throwing out the sogged-up napkins and harvesting new ones. “It’s okay Celia. No one’s food got ruined.”
“Okay!” I wailed; “can we just drop it?”
I slapped the table and Josephine grabbed her cup to save it from spilling over; Vinny, in a delayed reaction, covered his with his hand like a lid. He put on a little smile, first at the table but then shared with me. “I’ll get lids for those,” laughed Mom.
“No it’s alright Mom I’ll get ‘em,” said my sister, already starting up.
“Thank you, Josephine.”
When I knew she couldn’t hear me I muttered, “Yeah ‘cause you’re so perfect.” I made sure not to look at anybody when I said it, though. Instead I focused on unwrapping my burger.
“Better be quick with that,” Josephine said, slipping back into her seat. “Seven o’clock already.”
“Well you guys’ve got plenty left too,” I pointed out. “Look at Vinny.”
“Does Vinny even count, though?”
“—I’m.” Vinny gestured at his food, looking bemused.
“You’re done already?”
He shrugged. “We apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Well then that’s no fair,” I protested, turning back to Josephine.
“What’s that, Celia?” She laughed. “Chew, don’t argue—we can’t understand you.”
“Girls, it’s not a contest. There’s no hurry, Celia.”
“Yeah!” I swallowed, and almost choked. “There’s no hurry, Josephine.”

After burgers we went next door, for soft-serve. I got the only kind worth getting, chocolate-dipped chocolate-vanilla swirl, whose virtues I tried to press on my disciples but they didn’t believe me: Josephine got vanilla, Mom a chocolate milkshake. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Mom,” I said. “Try some of mine.”
“No that’s alright, Celia. Thank you though. I’ve got plenty here.”
“Are you suuuuure? It’s reeeally good…!”
A modest grin. She shook her head. “No, really. Be careful though—don’t let it melt. It does look very good.”
I rolled my eyes at her platitudes. “I know. I’ve got it.”
“See if your brother wants some.”
I looked at him, then cast her a skeptical glance. “Is he even allowed?” After so little burger, I meant.
Mom laughed. “Of course he’s allowed. Vinny, Celia wants to know if you’d like to try her ice cream.”
“No thanks. I’ll take your cherry though, Mom.”
Josephine cracked up, and had to spit into her napkin to keep from choking. I laughed too—at her face, I mean; I don’t know what she found so funny. Mom didn’t seem to think it was, so I pretended I didn’t care. She handed the cherry out for Vinny, then reeled her hand back in a little, before he could take it. “Want some whip cream on that?” she asked him.
Little weak smile. “Better not.”
“No, didn’t think so. Just thought I’d ask.” She pat his hand. He drew it back, and pulled the stem out of his mouth.
“Can you tie it in a knot with your tongue?” I asked. Josephine made a noise like a whistling tea kettle without opening her mouth. “Oh my god what’s so funny!”
“Mm,” said Mom. “Don’t say that, Celia; it’s not polite.”
“What. Don’t say what?”
“Mom thinks you oughtta flatter the Lord’s vanity,” muttered Vinny.
Josephine looked up at him. “Ha—nice one,” she said, sounding surprised, and held out her fist for him. “Oh come on, Vinny.” He cocked his head, blinked, then shrugged and accepted the offered fist.
Meanwhile: “Oh—that again. What does that mean?”
Mom shook her head and laughed. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“Fine.” I sighed and let my lips do that buzzy thing. Decided I’d better change the subject. My ice cream was almost gone, I noticed, and had started dripping onto my fingers. “Last chance. Any takers? Nobody? Aaaalright—your loss.” I didn’t really want to finish it myself, to be honest. It was starting to make me feel kinda gross. But since nobody offered I made myself eat it; it would’ve been a huge liability not to. I couldn’t set a precedent of not finishing stuff, or they’d use it against me later. “I gotta pee,” I said.
“Alright. We’ll wait for you in the car.”

When I got to the car I opened the door and found Vinny in my seat. “I thought you were driving.”
“No, Celia. It’s my shift now,” said Mom.
Josephine snorted: “Allegedly.”
“But you said three hours each and it’s only seven!”
“Almost eight, actually,” interjected my sister.
Vinny shrugged at me. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“But Mom, you said—! You said I’d get it for three hours and Vinny’s only been driving like an hour and a half. It’s not fair.”
“Well I’m sorry honey,” Mom said, her voice going up a whole octave, “I didn’t realize it mattered so much to you but—it’s already almost dark, see?”
“So?”
“So the sun won’t be in your eyes anyway, will it?”
“Well no, I guess not, but.”
“Your brother’s only sixteen, Celia, remember?” Josephine called, from the passenger seat. “Not supposed to drive at night yet. Sucker,” she added, winking at Vinny, who made a sound like hhggh in response.
“Josephine.” Our mom made a sour face at her.
I didn’t care about the seat; I just didn’t want Mom in charge of the radio. They’d made a deal that the driver got to choose what we put on, but Vinny had given me his turn, so I was mad he’d abdicated.
“Yeah but,” I continued, “yeah, but. It isn’t dark yet. It’s only almost dark. We’ve still got another hour, I bet. It doesn’t have to be right now, does it?” I turned to Vinny and stuck out my lip, tried to look pathetic.
He smiled, and shrugged. “Sorry, C.”
“Why not!”
“Celia.”
My mom didn’t turn back to look at us, she just sat straight holding the steering wheel, with her elbows very stiff. I knew this move, but I was determined. “Come ooooon. One more hour.”
Josephine held up the weather app on her phone. “Nope,” she said. “Not an hour. See?” She jittered the scroll up and down a bit with her thumb, to emphasize. “Sunset, 7:30 PM.”
“Well what time is it now?”
“7:43 PM.”
“So then the app’s wrong!”
“Girls,” Mom said. “Please. Let’s not make this into a thing.”
“It’s not a ‘thing,’” I wailed, putting my hands into scare-quotes. “I just don’t get why he has to—?” I sniffed, “why it has to be now. It isn’t fair; you said three hours.”
“I know I did, Celia,” Mom admitted. “It’s my fault for giving that estimate.”
Vinny said: “I can do it if you need me to. God’s sake, I do know how.”
Mom shook her head, still without turning to look at us. “No Vinny that’s fine, you don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah Vinny come on it’s not even legal.”
“Yes it is!” I yelled. “Look outside! The app’s wrong, it isn’t dark yet!”
“Sssshhh,” Mom pleaded. “No need to shout.”
“But it isn’t! The app is wrong—look!” I jabbed at the window.
“I know, Celia—yes. We can all see that, but it’s more complicated—”
“Why? No it isn’t; he can still?”
“Celia.”
“I’m not shouting!” (Josephine scoffed.) “I just want to know; you never answered me.”
My mom laughed, pretty drily. She didn’t sound mad exactly, though. Just resigned. “Oh—I’m sorry, Celia. What was your question, then.”
“Just.” Now I felt stupid. “Just why you can’t wait ‘til it’s actually dark.”
She started trying to explain about how they’d have to find somewhere to pull over to change places, and how that was really hard on the freeway for a new driver and she didn’t feel safe letting him. “Not that I don’t trust you, Vinny—you know that.” He nodded, and sneered a little.
“But that’s stupid,” I insisted. I knew I was cornered at this point, and I should admit I was crying a little. Though I felt pretty stupid about that, even at the time, which is probably why I was mad. “How’s he gonna—I mean, how he’s ever gonna get, you know, more practice if. If you won’t even.”
“Well but it isn’t just that, Celia; it’s also been a long day. I want to get started before I get too sleepy to drive for long.”
“We can keep you awake until it’s dark. Besides, you won’t fall asleep while it’s light out.”
“Well thank you for offering to help, Celia, but.” Stop saying my name over and over like that, I wanted to say. But I’d tried stuff like that before, and it never went over well. “If it were only me then, maybe, but. Your brother too, you know he gets.”
“Oh, here it comes,” sneered Vinny; our mom sighed. “Steel yourself for the onslaught.”
“I didn’t mean….”
“Vinny come on,” Josephine snapped, thumping her hand on the armrest between the front seats. “That doesn’t even mean anything. Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“I’m the one who’s—?”
“Oh, Vinny—Josephine—kids, don’t make this into a—”
“What, mom: a thing?”
“You know what I mean; I just—? Come on. Can’t I just drive?”
“Yeah, Mom!” Josephine laughed maliciously. “I’m not the one who doesn’t want you to drive; of course you can. I’ve been wondering why you don’t just take off, Jesus Christ it’s like, 7:51 now.”
“But Vinny said he would drive though!” I reminded them. My voice came out all squeally and desperate.
Josephine growled. “Does it really matter, Celia?”
“It’s not that, I don’t even care about that anymore I just don’t know why everyone’s so mad—he said he didn’t mind so why’re you guys still attacking me!”
“Oh, Celia, we’re not attacking you,” said Mom. She finally looked at me, and she looked so sad it made my throat hurt. “It’s my fault—honestly. I’m the one who doesn’t want him to drive in the dark—”
“It’s legal when you’re in the car, isn’t it?” spluttered Vinny.
“Hey, yeah!” I exclaimed, and then, stupid in my excitement: “Is it really?”
“I don’t know,” Mom sighed. “It’s not about that, Vinny, you’re right. I just didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“Too late!”
“Yes; I’m sorry.”
“So then why can’t we do it that way?” I said, waving all that other stuff out of the way, hoping to get them back on track before it got all the way dark. “There’s a little time still anyway, and he said—?”
“Celia,” Mom warned.
Josephine laughed, all superior. “Right, yes—maybe five minutes! Two to switch places, two to get out of the parking lot, and then…!”
“Please, let’s not….”
“For God’s sake”—Vinny opened the door, hauled himself out. Slammed it shut. Mom unbuckled her seatbelt and got out too, and closed her door. I couldn’t hear what they said, but I watched; Mom stood in front of the front door-handle, so he couldn’t get in. My brother walked to the other side of her, like he was looking for a way in, then threw his hands up and wandered back to the car. He leaned his forearms on it. It was a small car and Vinny was pretty tall, so now they were so close to the car I couldn’t see either his face or Mom’s. She moved away from the car and turned to face him, patted his shoulder I’m guessing, then opened up the car and sat back down in the driver’s seat.
“Thanks anyway, though, Vinny,” Mom said, turning around to face him, when he opened the backseat door.
I sighed—a big testy long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, Vinny,” I conceded, while rolling my eyes. “Thanks for trying.” He smiled crookedly at me and shrugged, then crossed his arms and looked out the window.

I felt kinda sick, so I made us all play games to distract me. “Yak.”
Vinny: “Kangaroo.”
Josephine: “Ox.”
“Hm,” Mom said, and laughed, all sheepish. “Darn. X? Pass—I can’t think of anything.”
“There’s no ‘pass,’ Mom,” I told her. “That means you’re out.”
“Does it? Alas, then. I’m out.”
“Good try, Mom.” Josephine patted her leg.
“Oh, thank you dear.”
“Wait, so then?” I shifted in my seat; I was holding onto the thingy, the little handle at the top of the car, on the ceiling, hoping that might help. It had before—with motion sickness. But maybe that wasn’t the same thing? “What do you do when someone’s out. Does the next person have to do it, or?”
“Sure—let’s do it that way.”
“Okay, so who’s next.”
“You.”
“Oh wait no—crap.”
Mom shook her head gravely. “Celia.”
“I can’t say crap?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” She shrugged.
“Okay, poop then. I guess I’m out too. Vinny?”
“Xylophone.”
“That’s an animal?”
“…Shit. Hoped you wouldn’t notice. J?”
But I had a further objection. “He gets to say shit but I can’t say crap?”
“Celia!”
“Oh come on! How is that fair?”
“Yeah honestly Mom,” Josephine laughed, “I know he’s your precious sweetieumpkins, the apple of your eye or whatever, but that’s messed-up.”
“Just like him,” Vinny offered, all sing-song resigned.
Our mom shook her head. “I’m sorry—what’s the problem? Who said shit?”
“Vinny.”
“Oh. Vinny, don’t say that, dear.” I could see her goofy smile in the rear-view mirror. “It isn’t fair to the other children.” The other three laughed; I huffed. Suck-ups!
“Okay so Josephine. D’you have an animal starting with X.”
“Negative. I’ll give you a new one, though: ass.”
“Mooooom—!”
“My gosh, Celia. What is it?”
“Josephine swore!”
“I did, Mom.” She giggled, all sly. “Guilty as charged. But in my defense it is an animal.”
“No it’s not!”
“Oh: ass?” Mom offered. Her face went all crooked with laughter. “Yes, Celia, I’m afraid it is.” With an official voice on, “I’m going to allow this.” A salute in the rearview mirror.
I sighed. “Fine. Alright—you’re up again, Mom. Go. S.”
“Oh—salamander.”
Then me. “Rhino.”
“’Rhino’ or ‘rhinoceros’?”
“Rhino.”
“Alright,” Vinny said. “Ox.”

During Josephine’s part of the drive we got lost. “This is not my fault,” she reminded us. Mom fished out our janky old GPS from the cabinet between the seats and handed it back to Vinny.
“Can you fix this?”
“Oh, hell. Doesn’t J have an iPhone?”
“I know, honey, I’m sorry—she does, but in case it doesn’t work.”
“Shouldn’t we see if it works?”
Mom bit her lip. “Alright. Josephine what did you say the app was called?”
“Google Maps, Mom.”
“Okay. Dad doesn’t have that on his iPod, so you’ll have to bear with me—”
“Mom—” Vinny grabbed at a tuft of hair, and sighed through his nose. “I can work Google Maps better than I know how to fix the?”
“Oh! Yes, good point. You don’t mind?”
“You may take that for granted I think.”
“Thank you.”
He pressed the top button to turn the screen on. “You know you can just press the home button, right?” I asked. I considered myself an expert because I had an iPod Touch, so Mom’s modesty had embarrassed me—not to mention her trusting the guy who’d broke his iPod,  instead of me.
But Vinny ignored my comment because he got distracted by the brightness. “Fuck—how do I turn this—?”
I tsked at him. “I’ll do it.”
“Thanks.”
“All the way down?”
I turned it halfway down and showed it to him; he grimaced and put his hand up to block the light. “Oh Christ is that as low as it goes.”
“That’s pretty good!—well if you don’t even wanna look at it then I’ll do the maps thing.”
“Go ahead.”
Ha! Can’t believe he fell for that.
“Uhhh…” I opened it up but it didn’t look right. “Where’s the? This looks different than…! Oh: okay, I got it. Ugh! Josephine your phone’s really slow. I’m gonna close out some of your other apps, okay?”
She laughed, I think. I didn’t hear it, but her shoulders flickered a little. “Alright, kid. You do that.”
Except, “Uhh bad news guys,” I said. “There’s no service? I think.”
“Are you on wifi?” Josephine asked.
“Well duh. What’d you think I was on?”
“Dial-up,” offered Vinny. My sister laughed. He started imitating the dial-up sound, all timid and shy until she took it up too: wn-nrr wn-nrr wr-khhhh, et cetera. I sighed and crossed my arms. They thought this was so hilarious.
“No but seriously,” Josephine interrupted: “no service on wifi or?”
“Yeah—no service on wifi.”
Vinny sighed. “Here, I’ll do it.”
He held out his hand; I pulled the phone away from him. “What? No—I know how to…? What the heck!”
“No Celia it’s too hard to explain—just let him do it.”
“What the heck!” I repeated.
“Three-G, Celia,” Josephine growled.
“Oh.” I handed the thing to Vinny. “Yeah okay, I don’t know how to do that. I can do the maps part, though.”
Vinny scrunched his eyes up into slits and bared all his teeth at the phone. “This is really as dim as it goes? How the hell did I put up with this.”
“Eh,” I told him. “Just keep tellin’ yourself that.”
He poked at it for a minute or two, then dropped it on his lap and scratched his eyes. “Never mind—I don’t know how to do it either.” He spoke really quietly, though, so:
“What?” Josephine yelled back.
Still quiet, “I said I don’t know how to—fuck it.” Louder, “There’s no service, Josephine. Celia’s right.” Then to Mom: “Give me the fucking… the fucker. The old fogey. The antediluvian global-positioning fart.”
Josephine glanced at Vinny in the rearview mirror, her eyebrows wrinkly in the middle. “Nice.”
“Yeah, well. I try.”
“No you don’t.” She laughed.
“Nope. It’s funny, because it’s not true.”
“Ha, ha.”
Meanwhile, “Such language,” Mom said, as she dragged the thing out again and handed first it and then its tangle of cords to my brother. She yawned. “Alright, here you are.”
“Oh man,” I said, all wide-eyed. “I remember that. That thing never worked, did it?”
“Doubtful.” Vinny twisted his mouth up. “Though maybe I’m just projecting,” he added—so quiet I barely heard him.
“Is it looking doable?” Mom craned her neck around to look at us.
I peered over at the GPS. “He’s still trying to find the on button, Mom.”
“Vinny do you want like a flashlight or something? I think there’s one under the seat.”
“Is it out of batteries?”
“It doesn’t take batteries, Mom. It plugs into the car.”
“I meant the flashlight.”
Josephine laughed. “Probably. Wanna bet?”
“For God’s sake—don’t bother. I don’t want it.”
“Why not? You find the on button?”
“No. Ouch—yes. Aw, shit.”
“Hm?”
He sighed and dropped it between the seats, where it thunked and rattled like a sad puppy. Vinny covered up his eyes with both hands. “The thing’s toast. Just forget it. Let’s just find somewhere that has service.”
“O…kay. How is it toast though?”
“I’ll show you when we get there.”
I picked it up. The screen was mostly white, with some big cyan and green and purple boxes. I tried pressing buttons but nothing happened. “Oh wow. Oh my gosh. Yeah—it’s pretty toast, alright.” I laughed and shook my head.

We took an exit and drove to a parking lot of one of those big plazas. It had a Best Buy, but it was closed. There was also Safeway, and a 24-Hour Fitness, and one other big kinda place like that but that one was closed-up forever so the sign had been taken down, though you could still see the outlines of some of the letters. There was no service here either, so Mom went into the other open place—a Subway—to ask for directions. Josephine and Vinny and I stayed in the car trying to guess what the empty store was.
“I think that’s a B,” said my sister. “What stores start with B?”
“Bel-Air?”
“Well but there’s already a Safeway, so. Probably Bel-Air’s not the one that woulda gone out.”
“BevMo,” suggested Vinny.
“No it’s not BevMo. I thought of that too but no way. BevMo isn’t that big.”
“In a town without cell service? You underestimate their need for drink.”
“Oh, good point. Maybe they turned it off and closed the liquor store to put a stop to the two big bad things people drink-and-do.” (Vinny laughed a little.) “Oh my god, shut up. Okay so two out of three things. Still I’m way ahead of you with your cherry earlier.”
“Didn’t know it was a contest.”
“This is America, Vinny. Come on.”
I blinked lazily at the letters, and suddenly got it. “Oh! Guys, it’s Big Lots!”
Josephine snapped her fingers. “Big Lots. You’re right. Wow, that’s so obvious.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No I just mean, now you say it I can see that it says ‘Big Lots.’ And here I was entertaining Vinny’s BevMo idea.” She scoffed at herself. “BevMo, god. No wonder she wouldn’t let you drive.”
“Wait what?”
“For the last time,” said Vinny; I looked over at him. He had on an embarrassed grin. “I swear.”
“You swear to drunk you are not God.”
“You’re drunk? That’s why Mom wouldn’t let you drive?”
“No, seriously. I am not drunk.”
“Uh huh,” said my sister.
“I’m not even acting drunk…!”
“Sure you’re not.”
“I don’t drink—at all! I can’t drink.”
She scoffed. “What do you mean you can’t. You know how, don’t you?”
“It’s.” He pawed at his hair, searching for words. “It’s contraindicated—I’m not allowed.”
“Well, no—you’re sixteen! Neither am I, allowed!”
“Why are you shouting?”
“Oh, right, I see—sorry, I misspoke. You’re not drunk; you’re hungover. Squares and rectangles.”
“No need to ask which one’s which.”
Silence for a few seconds. She squinted at him. “What?—wait okay is this a gay joke. Rectangle: erect: rectum. Very funny.”
(“Ew,” I informed them, without knowing what was relevant about the word rectum.)
“God’s sake. No, it is not a gay joke—why would I make a gay joke, at my own expense, to my homophobic sister?”
“Because you do that all the time? And I’m not homophobic, don’t say that. You know I’m not. That isn’t funny.”
“No funnier than ‘squares and rectangles’ would be as a gay joke.”
“Alright so what’s the joke then.”
“Oh for the love of—‘rect’ means right. As in correct. Prim, proper. That’s you. And I’m the square.  Do you get it?”
“But isn’t a square even primmer than a regular rectangle?”
“Well, he is teetotal, probably. Since no one invites him to parties.”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“What, party?”
“Fuck you. No—‘teetotal.’”
“It means I’m not drunk.”
“Shhh okay shut up here comes Mom.”
“Not gonna tell on me?”
“No, shithead. I’m not.”
“’Shithead’—could do better. Shitface, according to you.”
“Oh my god. Why do you do that.”