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Catriona Doyle slugged back the shot her customer had bought her before dropping herself in the empty chair at his table. Giving her long red hair a shake as she let it out of the ponytail she had while she was serving drinks. She didn’t usually spend her breaks with customers, but he was a regular who seemed to make a point of sitting in her section and leaving great tips without ever doing something annoying like hitting on her. That didn't necessarily mean he wasn't interested, but it was worth the risk to avoid spending her break alone or harassing the man at the piano to play her favourites. Bill was nice, but she tended to annoy him with the more obscure.
“I don’t believe I've actually caught your name,” she said by way of a conversation opener.
“There is a reason for that,” he stated cryptically.
“Now I definitely need to know your name,” she replied as a grin spread across her face. Leaning back in her chair, twirling a few strains of her hair, she added, “An answer like that demands that I know.”
He stared at her a moment before answering. “It’s Kermit Cecil Peacock.”
She tried not to, but a laugh escaped. His parents didn't like him much, she thought, to saddle him with that combination. One or the other, sure. But both had to be some sort of cruel streak. The man himself, had blond hair and blue eyes, the classic good looks, and dressed in a manner that suggested success. It was a wonder that she wasn't interested. The name did not go with the looks. “You don’t look like a frog,” she joke, taking a sip of the beer he had bought for her once she had agreed to sit with him for her break. “Perhaps you've already been kissed by your princess.”
“It’s only gotten worse since that damn kids’ show started to air,” he groaned. “I wasn't named after the frog. I've been around a lot longer than that.”
“Actually Kermit has been around since the mid-50s,” she informed him. “He originated on a little show called Sam and Friends that I watched as a young child. Quite fun.”
“Still too young for him to be the origin of my name,” he grumbled in return. He offered her a drag of the joint he had but she waved it off.
“The boss doesn't have a problem with the customers using,” she told him. “But the employees can’t indulge. At least not during work hours. What we do on our own time is our business.”
“Does that mean you do indulge on your own time?” he asked as he took another drag for himself. “Or are you too much of a do-gooder to partake in something illegal?”
She leaned forward, her arms on the table, looked the man straight in the eye and stated, “I firmly believe that marijuana use should be legal. It is no more harmful for you than that stuff in the glass before you and unlike that item, it has some excellent health benefits. Especially for those with terminal diseases, something to help ease their pain and discomfort. It is ridiculous the amount of time and money wasted on prosecuting those who use.”
“How about those who supply?”
“That would be solved by legalization, now, wouldn't it?”
“That could be argued for all types of drugs,” he pointed out, playing devil’s advocate.
“But there is a big difference between marijuana and, say, heroin,” she stated. “The line between what you consume to achieve euphoria and what it takes to actually harm or even kill yourself is very thin; therefore, it makes sense that there is control placed on the consumption. Especially if you factor in how quickly a physical dependence can form. Think about it. One use, it is possible from just one a single use to develop a dependence. Whereas with marijuana, well, you are more likely to poison yourself with what you are drinking than what you are smoking. Not counting of course the damage done by the smoke ingestion. But then again, drinking harms the liver. We are being inconsistent in our treatment and it is based more on what industries have the power than on what may or may not be in the public’s best interest.”
“I take it you are a believer in the role that William Randolph Hearst played in making pot illegal?”
“That the man was very anti-hemp due to the impact it would have on some of his business interests, I have no doubt,” she admitted, giving a little shrug. “Whether or not he encouraged Harry Anslinger, the former head of the then Federal Bureau of Narcotics, in villainizing marijuana I’ll leave to the individual to decide, other than to point out that Anslinger made great use of Hearst’s papers to spread his alarmist propaganda. Very racist propaganda at that.”
“Most things at that time tended to be racist,” he reminded her. “That was as much a product of its time as anything more sinister.”
"Doesn't make it right," she retorted, her voice laced with anger and frustration. "And the negative imagery persists to this day."
"Hey, you got my vote," he joked, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
"Not running for office," she stated ruefully. "And given that you are a user, I doubt it was a hard sell to start with. Unless part of your enjoyment is derived from the forbiddenness of it all."
"Never thought about it much one way or another, to be honest," he admitted with a little frown. "Maybe I should."
"Maybe you should," she echoed back as she checked her watch. "Oh, my break is over. Sorry I chewed on your ear so long on a topic you aren't that interested in."
"Don't be," he replied. "Just because I never really thought about it doesn't mean it wasn't interesting. And food for thought. I'd like to hear your thoughts on pot being called a gateway drug some time."
The look she shot him as she stood spoke volumes of her opinion on that. She wasn't sure if he was serious or mocking her. She pursed her lips as she considered her response. "If you're serious, maybe next time. However, if you are making fun of me, I am going over to that well-muscled sailor there and tell him you're after his guy."
Ignoring the threat, he leaned over to get a better look at the two men. "Are they a couple? I had wondered. They do always seem to be together and somewhat discouraging of others joining them."
She was impressed that he took the idea of a gay couple hanging out at the same bar as him in stride. She had expected a different reaction, particularly given what she had implied about him. Not that she knew whether or not the two men were gay or a couple or if the man she spent her break with wasn't so. It would go a long way in explaining the lack of passes from the man.
"Not that he'd have to worry about me if they are," the man continued. "Not where my interests lie at all. Like the ladies myself."
Now she knew the answer to at least one of the men's orientations she thought to herself as she caught a look from the manager out of the corner of her eye. "Got to go, the boss man is giving me the stink eye. Next time you pick the topic."
He smiled at the idea of a next time. "That I will."
He held up his glass as she turned to leave. "And if you could get me another?"