Outsider
The neon haze was not as alluring as the coeds that pranced around the fern bar. That’s what his parents called them, fern bars: restaurant by day, bar at night, with an inordinate amount of cheesy green plants. Floyd’s coworkers sat across from him and to his right, each with a lager in front of them. Floyd had only taken a sip of his.
“Man I wish I was in college again.” said the accountant as he eyed a group of girls near the table.
“Just be glad you’re not married, am I right?” replied the immature desk clerk. He held his hand up for a high-five to Floyd. Accepting would mean putting up with at least three more later that night.
“C’mon man, don’t leave me hanging.”
Floyd left him hanging. The other two, the accountant, and the only one whose name Floyd could remember, Bill, laughed together and continued in a conversation about which twenty-something was likely to be the boss’s daughter.
This was the first time Floyd had been invited out with “the guys”. Fitting in was important, or it needed to seem important if he was to fit in. The best way to be normal, Floyd had discovered, was to talk about women.
“Nice boobs.” Floyd said, describing no woman in particular.
Another high-five was offered, Bill grinned, and the accountant motioned for another beer.
