¡ Chapter Dos !
Miranda Wright's Bar and Grill
San Antonio, TX
"You have the right to 'buy one, get one' well drinks until seven o'clock. You have the right to free pretzels. You have the right to have fun. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" The hostess asked.
Sucio Sanchez had been coming to the Miranda Wright's B&G for the past eight weeks, every Tuesday night. For each of those eight weeks he had been their Tuesday night trivia champ. Sucio's brain was loaded down with trivia. Do you know how many people are killed each year by vending machines? Sucio does: 4. Do you know the only Central American country that speaks English as its official language? Sucio does: Belize.
"I do," Sucio answered. His suspended driver's license read Miguel Sanchez, but everyone called him Sucio. His father was Miguel. His abuela called him Miguelito, but honestly, he preferred Sucio.
Growing up, Sucio was one of those people that strangers always thought should be on a game show. So he took their advice. He applied, tested and auditioned for as many shows as the networks could air. Over the course of twenty seven months, he amassed enough cash winnings, trips to Bermuda and three-person jet-skis to support himself for 13 and a half years. His burgeoning game show career came crashing down around him when a certain show’s producers accused him of stealing a pair of Vanna White’s panties. He wasn’t stealing them, he was wearing them, for luck. He was going to give them back.
Unfortunately for Sucio, his thirteen years were up. Lately, he’d been forced to enter as many local trivia games as he could find, and live off their gift card grand prizes and the meager salary he earned as a San Antonio River Guide. The same job he’d held in high school, seventeen years before. Back then, he had been a deck swab, now he was a full-fledged captain and guide. The Captain rank was more of an honorary thing, considering the boat was on a rail and practically drove itself. Still, when it came to regurgitating obscure facts about San Antonio and its multicultural history, few were more qualified or capable than El Jeopardy himself.
"How many in your party?"
"Just me."
"Well then you have the right to a seat at the bar," The hostess replied. "Would you like a bar menu?"
"I'm only here for the trivia," Sucio said. “So, no.”
"Oh dang it, I'm afraid it is team trivia tonight. No lone wolfs."
"Oh, okay, well I guess, I'll just jump on someone's team then."
"Unfortunately, the teams have already been set and registered. You could enter a new team, but you'd need at least one other player... and you only have like ten minutes left to register."
“Why did they switch from single trivia?” Sucio asked.
“Teams bring in more people. That’s what we’re trying to do. Trivia night is a business, not a gift-card soup kitchen.”
“Soup kitchen. You’re a genius. I could kiss you, but you’d probably press charges!” Sucio exclaimed.
“You’d be right, “the hostess confirmed.
Miranda Wright’s was located about 7 minutes into the 35 minute round trip tour of the river. Which told Sucio that it was exactly 2 and a ½ blocks from Remember The ALa-Mode, a touristy dessert parlor that was abutted on its non-River-Walk side by the 7th Street Soup Kitchen and Emergency Shelter. There were always plenty of bums soaking up hobo chili on day old bread down there. If he hustled, Sucio had just enough time to find a partner and get their homeless ass back to the bar to register.
