I sat at a table in a cavernous bar in\nOTA country. It was a summer afternoon. I was licked after a grueling\nday on the construction job, eating a burrito large enough to feed a\nlogging crew for lunch, and writing notes about a man I kept seeing\nparked off Highway 101 who regularly applied spray foam insulation to\nthe exterior of his vehicle in some kind of art installation. It just\nkept growing, growing, bulging here, there, and everywhere. He was\nclearly living out of his vehicle, and thus living inside his art. I\nloved thinking that. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A woman at the bar shattered my fatigue\nand note taking. I looked up and beheld a tattooed and leggy OTA\nwoman wearing jean shorts and a frilly top. She was holding up a\nphone, showing the male bartender recent social media posts from her\nboyfriend’s phone that she had copied while he was passed out or\naway. She was narrating the story with staccato bursts of profanities\nwhile eating rice and beans and drinking double Crown and cokes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
All of this was going down despite a\nwork presentation she had to give in 45 minutes in a town 25 miles\naway. Apparently, the presentation would entail her demonstrating\nhow to better clean vacation rentals to the housekeepers in her\ncharge. She would show these lazy \u201cfucktards\u201d how to do it right\nand had taken dozens of photographs that very morning documenting how\nshe wanted the rentals cleaned properly. She would probably leave out\nthe part about cleaning them fueled on two double Crown and cokes for\nbreakfast. But maybe not. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The posts revealed the boyfriend’s\nmultiple liaisons (images included) and solicitations (emojis\nincluded) with other women. She wasn’t really upset with him over the\nsex part because she’d screwed someone else, too, yesterday, but\nwanted the boyfriend to fess up, and he couldn’t, despite the\nevidence. It was all fake news according to him. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt logy halfway through the burrito\nand couldn’t concentrate on the note taking as the woman ratcheted up\nthe story with every new absurd twist and turn of her boyfriend’s\ndepravity. I got up from the table and went up to the bar. I asked\nthe bartender for a to-go box and the woman whipped around on the\nstool, stared at her crotch, stared at me, and said, \u201cYou can have\nmy box!\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She smiled and I laughed. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before I could answer she added, \u201cBut\nyou should be warned about it.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I said, \u201cNot today, but thanks for\nthe offer.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She chuckled, whipped around, and\nslugged back the rest of her drink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bartender handed me the box. I\nwalked away to load the rest of the burrito and headed for home. \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I sat at a table in a cavernous bar in OTA country. It was a summer afternoon. I was licked after a grueling day on the construction job, eating a burrito large enough to feed a logging crew for lunch, and writing notes about a man I kept seeing parked off Highway 101 who regularly […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5414,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5413","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","category-oregon-tavern-age","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5413","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5413"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5413\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5416,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5413\/revisions\/5416"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5414"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5413"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5413"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5413"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}