June by Tuesday

“NO ONE DRINKS CHAMPAGNE FROM WOMEN’S SHOES ANYMORE,” Dean said as he watched the foam dissipate from the head of his beer.

Marcus lifted a bowl of peanuts and wiped the bar with a rag. “I don’t think that’s something people ever did, except in old movies.”

“Are you sure?”

Marcus set down the wooden bowl and let the rag drop into the sink. “Well, I mean, I can’t say I know many people who drink champagne. And the women I know all wear Reebok’s.”

Dean waved that off. “I don’t mean the women now. I mean back then.”

“Back when?”

“Like, back before women wore Reebok’s.”

“This is far beyond my expertise.”

Dean continued on. “But you know what I’m talking about right? They pour the champagne into high heeled shoes and then drink it.”

“I’ve seen it in old movies. I can’t say I’ve ever seen it in person.”

“They did it at parties.”

“We’ve never had a party like that here.”

Dean took a swig of his beer. “It doesn’t have to be here. I just mean like, anywhere.”

Marcus checked the time on the Yuengling clock on the wall. “Have you ever been to a party like that?”

“No, I guess not. But toll takers don’t usually get invited to swanky parties.”

“How’ve you been holding up?”

“You’d think after three weeks, I’d be a little less annoyed,” Dean said as he turned the wedding band on his ring finger. “Who’d have thought the state would just decide not to take cash anymore?”

“I guess it’s progress, just like across the street.”

Dean looked out through the window at the sprawling plant. “When’s the last day?”

“Today.”

“Get out. Is it really? I thought it would’ve been the end of the week. What’s the point of closing on a Monday?”

“Cause tomorrow’s the first day of June.”

Dean finished his beer. “That’s dumb. They could’ve closed last Friday instead of having them come in for one day this week.”

“Probably the stockholders, or something. You know how those people are. Not a lick of common sense between them.”

Dean nodded knowingly as he contemplated the empty barstools. “You worried they won’t come in today?”

Marcus picked up Dean’s empty glass. “I’m worried they won’t come in tomorrow.”

“I can see that.”

“You want another?” Marcus asked.

“No. I think I’d rather not be here when they come in.”

Marcus flipped the glass upside down and placed it in the soapy water. “Have a good night then. Say hi to Emily for me.”

Dean gave Marcus a two-fingered salute as he left. “I’ll do that.”

Marcus watched the door swing open and closed. A whistle bellowed through the afternoon haze. He walked to the window and stood under the Stroh’s sign. He pulled on the beaded chain, bringing the cracked neon to life. Like a beacon through the mist, he imagined the glowing tubes of red and blue calling out to the men and women of Burning Fork Assembly #27.

As a dozen laborers entered, Marcus slipped behind the bar. He knew what each would order. There were no mixed drinks for this crowd; Miller Lite, bottle or tap, Coors, Coors Light, Rolling Rock and Keystone Light. After the initial wave of shuffling feet and drink orders, a reverent hush hung like so many A and B posts on the line.

Betsy muttered, “I don’t even know what to think.”

Alligator leaned against the corner of the bar next to Betsy as he nursed a bottle of Rolling Rock. “They messed up. We were the best plant they had.”

“Damn straight,” Betsy said.

Alligator scratched at the psoriasis creeping above his beard. “I’ve never cried leaving a job and I’m not going to start now.”

Gradually the conversations grew louder as more eyes looked through the window at the fallen goliath. The final whisps of white smoke rising to the heavens. Inside the bar, two phenolic resin balls smacked against each other and caromed against torn felt before one dropped into a leather pocket. The motor of the ceiling fan wheezed as the blades completed a full circle with great effort.

Betsy sighed. “You should have seen me on my first day. I was nineteen. I know you wouldn’t believe it now. But they were whistling at me and my girlfriends when we walked out onto that floor. It was the biggest building I’d ever seen.”

“We made a good product. We really did,” Alligator said en passant as he stepped away from the bar and began wandering through the crowd.

“You know Marcus, we need to get that jukebox going. I can’t handle thinking about it anymore. You got any champagne back there?”

“Just the champagne of beers. Why, are you planning a party?” Marcus asked.

“I just want to help us forget for a little bit. We’ll have enough reality to deal with tomorrow.”

“I suppose so.”

“What about you?” Betsy asked. “You going to keep this place open?”

Marcus shoulders dropped. “Well, there’s not a lot of reasons for people to come out this way, is there?”

Betsy hitched up her thumb and pointed over her shoulder at the door. “Did you know Allen closed the diner last week? He’s not even going to waste his time without the plant.”

“Is that right?”

“When I drove by this morning, I saw he already boarded up the windows.”

“That’s not a good sign of things to come.”

“How about that jukebox? Everyone’s turning into a bunch of zombies,” Betsy said, scanning the faces of coworkers she’d known for decades.

“Let me get some bills from the register.”

“Man, I wish you had champagne. I’d love to shake it up and spray it all over these bastards.”

Marcus opened the register and started pulling out dollar bills. “Speaking of champagne. What kind of shoes are you wearing?”