The Incredibly Consequential Life of Charlie Zappala

Chapter Fifteen: Bar Wars - A New Hopeless Guy

Charlie wasn't sure what they were doing. It was probably the craziest thing they'd done in a week or so, fantasy-themed multiverse notwithstanding.

Today was Wednesday. Not that that was out of the ordinary. Therapy was done. Another session that sort-of-maybe did something but didn't drastically alter the course of their mental health. Definitely not worth the copay.

Now Charlie was sitting at the bar. That bar. The one they told a certain someone they didn't even know that they'd be at six o'clock. And what time was it now? Oh, yeah, 6:04. PM.

There was something that struck interest with the bespectacled sweater man. Probably because he looked like a giant fucking dork. Charlie didn't have a type, but if they did...

Well, you know the rest.

Charlie may or may not have taken the time to recount which of the many too-much-information scheduling phone calls was his. That, along with a quick peak of questionable legality at his file confirmed his affliction. On the phone with Charlie, Pedro had something along the lines of "Aw geez, I don't really know how to say this, but I've been, uh—you know, I'm just going to come out and say it. I have a shitting problem? Like it's not completely uncontrollable, but it's just more—"

And from that point is when Charlie completely checked out and waited for their chance to say "so when are you available for an appointment?" Was Charlie going to play it up like they remembered anything and everything about that conversation? Oh, most definitely. That was going to be a lot of fun.

"Uh, hey."

Charlie was so distracted they didn't even notice someone approaching them at the bar. They looked up, despite a strong, anxious urge telling them not to.

It was Pedro. Well, Charlie had figured it was him, but this was definitely for sure really him. They took notice of how his choice in attire for a doctor's visit and a night out was pretty much the same. He wore yet another big sweater and had yet to shave whatever was taking tentative space above his lip. He looked kind of uncomfortable. Charlie figured they looked the same as well.

"Hi," was all Charlie could muster out first. "I see you decided to take a kind stranger's advice and stop by this seedy establishment."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't call it seedy. It's nice, actually. Maybe a little too neon? Now, the fern in the bathroom, that's seedy."

"Less than a minute in and we've already got a pun. I like how this night is going so far." Charlie motioned for him to sit on the stool next to them.

He nervously complied. "Uh, hey, before we get started here, I have to ask something. Not to offend you, but I didn't know how to ask this earlier."

Charlie mentally prepped themself for a whole collection of uncomfortable, frequently asked questions. This part didn't faze them anymore. "What's up?"

"Uh, what...is your name? You never actually introduced yourself at the office and you don't have a nameplate or a tag or anything. And I know I should've asked on the bus the other day but I didn't want to be awkward and now it's too late to not be awkward."

They instantly felt lighter. That...that question was an easy one. "No, it's cool. I totally understand. Call me Charlie."

"Charlie," he breathed. "Great. I'm Pedro, but, uh, you already know that. Amongst other things."

Charlie crossed their legs and leaned on the bar, striking a pose that was a reference to god knows what. Perhaps some kind of mid-twentieth century film. "Oh, I know everything about you, Mr. Gershwin. Your name, address, date of birth, and social security number." In actuality, they'd just memorized his last name to make this exact joke. Somewhere along the way, though, Charlie lost the punchline completely.