I've written before about my former coworker, Mike. Back in the day, we were thick as thieves, continuously pranking colleagues, exasperating our boss, and regularly terrorizing the buffets in town. After hours we'd meet up and chill. Our tastes in entertainment were the same - Band of Brothers, LotR, George R.R. Martin when he used to write, and the History Channel back when it was about history and not aliens or Bigfoot.
We were both detail-oriented, and our matching "get it done right" instead of just "get it done" temperaments assured we'd get along famously. He was also a bit quirky. Mike once bought a bottle of cognac since he'd never tried the stuff before. After uncorking the bottle and pouring himself a shot, he took a sip - and was not impressed. Looking around his kitchen Mike spied a 2-liter of creme soda, and his eyes lit up. After mixing the two into the most ghastly cocktail I can imagine, he declared his creation "pretty damned tasty". When I heard this story I declared him an honorary redneck on the spot.
Another interest we shared was woodworking. We'd visit woodworking expos that came to town, talk smack about Norm Abrams, and regularly just cruise through the woodworking hobby shops in the area. His level of meticulous precision exceeded my own, and he channeled it into projects like crafting his own guitar.
It was while working on a project, he was making use of his table saw. Mike's concentration lapsed for a moment, but unfortunately, that's all it took, and he injured himself badly. His Army training kicked in, and he applied a pressure bandage to staunch the bleeding while making a hectic call to his wife. That day, she had the only car and was at the library working on a paper for her degree.
Mike met his wife when he was stationed in Germany. She was of German and Italian extraction, and I believe he once described her as someone who could very efficiently become very angry.
The minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. After half an hour, Mike rang his wife again. "Where are you?! The bleeding stopped, but I need to get to a hospital!"
"Jeez! Can you give me a few minutes - I'm still in line to check out these books!"
"Wait? What?"
*sigh* "Mike! You know I've got a paper due!"
I'd like to think that if I'd injured myself badly, I could call Andrea and she'd drop whatever she was doing to come to help me. And as a matter of fact, I did, and she did, but that's a different post.
It was at that moment, with the phone receiver in his bloody hand, that Mike realized he and his wife weren't exactly in sync with each other. They eventually separated but remained on polite terms. By the time I knew him, years had passed since the "incident", and he was able to joke about it. "Man, Wayne, the first time, I married for love. The next time I'm marrying for money."
Ironically, a guy Mike knew reached out to him a little while later. Dude wanted to introduce Mike to his cousin. Who lived overseas. Who he was trying to hook up with a green card. "Look, Mike, she's a great gal, and after I told her about you, she's really eager to meet. Besides, her family will make it worth your while."
When Mike told me, I just laughed. "C'mon, man. You can't seriously be considering this."
He didn't say no. What he did do was start listening to Rosetta Stone language CDs and planning a couple of overseas trips. I looked on with bemused concern.
After a few months of back and forth with Dude over the particulars, something must have set off Mike's BS radar, because he summarily dropped the entire arrangement.
The last time he and I met up, he was doing just fine living his best single life in a condo. Band of Brothers was playing on the home theater system as we fried up some burgers. Thankfully, there was no cognac or creme soda on hand.
Incidentally, he sold me that table saw.
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