The Burg and Other Seattle Scenes

by Jerome Gold

  Just then we heard banging on one of the glass panes that made up the upper half of the door. It was one of the men with knives. The waitress yelled, “We’re closed!” But the man continued to bang. “We’re closed, goddamnit! Can’t you understand American!”

  Then she went to the door and unlocked it and it opened and the man with the steak knife ran inside with the man with the short-bladed knife after him. They ran back and forth around the table they had run around before until one of the cooks came out of the kitchen with a large skillet and yelled, “Put those goddamn knives down or I’ll fuck you both up! That knife is mine! Put it down!”

  Both men stopped running and stared at the cook who raised the skillet as though to knock them on the head. The cook was not an especially large man but he clearly had meant what he said, and when he took a step toward them in addition to thrusting the skillet even farther into the air, the man with the steak knife quickly placed it on the table. “This is my knife,” the man with the short-bladed knife said in English.

  “Then put it to fuck away,” said the cook, and raised the skillet again after having lowered it. The man with the short-bladed knife folded it and put it in the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Now behave yourselves,” the cook said, and returned to the kitchen.

  The two men looked at each other and began to cry. Then they were in each other’s arms, embracing and stepping back to touch each other’s face or shoulder, then embracing again.

  The young couple from the far side of the dining room walked past the embracing men, gave money to the waitress who was manning the cash register now, and left. I read modest amusement on their faces.

  David and I got up and went to the cash register. The two men were crying wholeheartedly and seemed to be saying things to each other that signified regret.

  “I don’t give a shit,” the waitress said. “I’m still leaving. I took this shit job so I could support myself so I could go to school, but I haven’t gone to class since I started working here.”

  “That was a kind of education,” I said.

  “A kind of education that won’t get me a better job.”

  Walking to the car, I said, “Well, that was fun.”

  “Fun!” David said. “You liked that?”

  “Sure. How often do you get to see something like that? And before that, we had the pregnant girl and her lover. Or ex-lover. What a fun evening! Didn’t you think so?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “Well, you should.”

  “You’re weird, Dad.”

  “I’m weird!”

  I laughed and David did too.

  Arf: an Exchange for Two Dogs

  “Arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf … arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf…. Arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf.”

  “Bow wow. Bow wow, bow wow, bow wow. Bow wow, bow wow, bow wow, bow wow.”

  “Arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf….”

  “Bow wow bow wow bow wow bow wow—”

  “Arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf….”

  “Bowowowowowowowowoowowowowowoowo—”

  “Arfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrr—”

  “Bowooooooooooo-Wooooooo”

  “Arfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfar—”

  “—ooooooooooooooooooooo—”

  “—farfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfar—”

  “—oooooooooooooooooooooo—”

  “—arararararararararararararararararar—”

  “Owooooooooooooooooooooo—”

  “—arfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarfarf—”

  “—ooo. Bow wow.”

  “Arf.”

  Jerome Gold is the author of thirteen books, including the novel, Sergeant Dickinson, and Paranoia & Heartbreak, a memoir of the years he spent as a rehabilitation counselor in a prison for children. He has lived in Seattle for more than half his life.