Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everything Must Belong Somewhere
In my attempt to get away from a potential problematic situation I abruptly excused myself and on my way to my unknown destination I managed to literally run into three and a half waiters. I say half because one was very short and I wasn't sure if he would meet the height requirements that would enable him to ride a roller coaster. Obviously I choose roller coaster terms to separate the men from the boys, or rather the full waiters from the half waiters. It's a rather successful scale to measure integrity by. Feel free to use it for yourself. At any rate, Pete Wentz was merely seconds away from officially stepping into conversation range.
"Oh. Hi. Thanks. Do you know if this is gin or vodka?" I asked another half waiter as I stole a martini from his tray. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you have two more there. I think the third can live without his cocktail. After all, someone has to be the designated driver. I'm doing you a favor. Do you want a death on you conscious? Unless, of course, there are four people at your table and one of them neglected to order a drink for that very reason.. You know what, just say you forgot his. He'll believe it, you waiters are always fucking things up." Would you believe it if I told you that bastard walked away from me? Let it be known that half waiters are more rude than regular sized waiters. They are also uncharacteristically mute. That scenario always goes off without a hitch in movies.
"They let you near waiters now? Remember what happened last time you decided it would be okay to converse with the hired help?" Pete walks quicker than I remembered. Maybe he was no longer walking in slow motion. That's a shame. Slow motion looks good on him. Actually, I think slow motion looks good on anyone. Everyone should walk in slow motion from now on.
"Yes, Yes. Well, they agreed to come off strike so long as I promised to never step foot in any kitchen ever again. Problem solved." I brought the cone shaped glass to my lips and hoped the liquid would burn more than I unfortunately knew it would. "Gin. Why would anyone order a gin martini?" I asked aloud.
"Gin martini's are your favorite." Pete said lacking respect for questions of the rhetorical kind. He was reminding me of things. He was reminding me that we had a past. He was reminding me that we had a history that involved gin and vodka and him knowing which of the two I preferred. He was reminding me of things I chose long ago to rid my memory of. Or perhaps, he was just stating a fact. It's difficult to tell sometimes.
"Right. I was just really hoping for vodka." I said looking around for another waiter. I spotted another half one, but quickly dismissed him. They could no longer be trusted.
"Maybe you should order your own next time." He offered innocently.
"I'll keep that in mind."
It was then that I learned the definition of awkward silence. What was one supposed to do in these situations? What was considered a respectable amount of time to speak again? Was it necessary for there to be a respectable amount of time to pass? Define 'respectable.' Were we to bring up the last run-in we had? The one that took place in a proverbial hell? Had too much time passed that that conversation was obsolete? No, it couldn't have. It was only weeks ago. What did he mean when he instructed Zak to "not fuck it up?" Was he finally admitting that he fucked it up? Why am I calling it 'it'?
I took another drink of my gin martini and stared at the olive in quiet contemplation. Do I eat the olive? I usually do, but knowing my luck, that would be the exact moment that a respectable amount of time had passed and Pete and I were to speak again. I couldn't have my second conversation with Pete in a year and a half to also involve a green olive. That would be awkward. I think I have a new found liking for that word. Perhaps, I'll incorporate it into my vocabulary.
"You still wear those boots, I see." He grinned. Pete had one of those smiled that began in his eyes and spread to his lips, not the other way around. It was perfectly unique, but that was besides the point. He was doing it again. Reminding me. Shoving the past, our past, in my face. He bought these boots for me on my twenty first birthday from Urban Outfitters two years ago. They were black, and suede, complete with a .5 inch heel so as not to be too tall, and absolutely beautiful I pined over them for weeks and visited them in the store often to keep them company and let them know they were loved, even if from a far. Subtlety was never my strong point, but it paid off because Pete eventually purchased them for me.
"I have a life now, Pete." I pointed out. Like I said, subtlety was never my strong point.
"That's absurd, Charley. You've always had a life." He grinned. He was grinning at me again. He was proud of himself for being clever. Asshole.
"Right. Well, I have a Zak now."
"So it seems."
"Yes, so it does." Awkward. Awkward, awkward, awkward. I was really beginning to hate that word. Consider it officially out of my elite vocabulary. Such an awful word. Damn it to hell.
"What's a Zak?" He asked.
"That's a Zak." I said pointing to a boy with shaggy black hair with chunks of deep red incorporated in randomly. My doing, of course. I used my supply of mannequin heads long before I obtained my silence from school, so Zak graciously offered me his head instead. Well, he didn't so much offer. Grudgingly agreed would be a appropriate term. Always use sex as leverage. Girls always win in that situation.
"He looks familiar." Pete spoke casually. My eyes quickly darted to his face in hopes of discovering the meaning beneath the words. Was he bringing up that night in Waffle House as a discussion topic? Was this bait? Should I bite? Should I wait a respectable amount of time to do so? Jesus fucking Christ, I must get someone to explain that phrase to me.
Pete laughed. No, he chuckled. It was definitely more of a chuckle. Pete chuckled. Then he began walking closer to me. He was now officially out of conversation range. He had now stepped into a whole other range. In fact, he was now so close, there was no more range. There was barely space. There was Pete though. A lot of Pete. Pete's eyes and his lips and his left hand on my cheek. Why was Pete's hand on my cheek?
"It was good to see you, Charley." He spoke softly. He had a voice that reeked of cigarettes and tequila. Scratchy and sexy. He delicately removed a misplaced strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. Then like that, he was gone. Now there was plenty of space. My range had been returned. The absence of Pete left me feeling exposed and unstable. Fuck my legs for this. Shaky sons of bitches. Goddamn traitors.
I took notice of the amount of waiters that were now casually walking around taking orders. One was heading straight for me. Wonderful timing.
""Is this gin or vodka?" I asked taking hold of ne of the many the martinis that littered his tray. I was met with a blank stare. "You know what? Never mind. Just keep them coming. Thanks." Well, I'll be damned. The normal sized waiters are rudeasses too. This restaurant has no hope. Fucking hell.
"Oh. Hi. Thanks. Do you know if this is gin or vodka?" I asked another half waiter as I stole a martini from his tray. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you have two more there. I think the third can live without his cocktail. After all, someone has to be the designated driver. I'm doing you a favor. Do you want a death on you conscious? Unless, of course, there are four people at your table and one of them neglected to order a drink for that very reason.. You know what, just say you forgot his. He'll believe it, you waiters are always fucking things up." Would you believe it if I told you that bastard walked away from me? Let it be known that half waiters are more rude than regular sized waiters. They are also uncharacteristically mute. That scenario always goes off without a hitch in movies.
"They let you near waiters now? Remember what happened last time you decided it would be okay to converse with the hired help?" Pete walks quicker than I remembered. Maybe he was no longer walking in slow motion. That's a shame. Slow motion looks good on him. Actually, I think slow motion looks good on anyone. Everyone should walk in slow motion from now on.
"Yes, Yes. Well, they agreed to come off strike so long as I promised to never step foot in any kitchen ever again. Problem solved." I brought the cone shaped glass to my lips and hoped the liquid would burn more than I unfortunately knew it would. "Gin. Why would anyone order a gin martini?" I asked aloud.
"Gin martini's are your favorite." Pete said lacking respect for questions of the rhetorical kind. He was reminding me of things. He was reminding me that we had a past. He was reminding me that we had a history that involved gin and vodka and him knowing which of the two I preferred. He was reminding me of things I chose long ago to rid my memory of. Or perhaps, he was just stating a fact. It's difficult to tell sometimes.
"Right. I was just really hoping for vodka." I said looking around for another waiter. I spotted another half one, but quickly dismissed him. They could no longer be trusted.
"Maybe you should order your own next time." He offered innocently.
"I'll keep that in mind."
It was then that I learned the definition of awkward silence. What was one supposed to do in these situations? What was considered a respectable amount of time to speak again? Was it necessary for there to be a respectable amount of time to pass? Define 'respectable.' Were we to bring up the last run-in we had? The one that took place in a proverbial hell? Had too much time passed that that conversation was obsolete? No, it couldn't have. It was only weeks ago. What did he mean when he instructed Zak to "not fuck it up?" Was he finally admitting that he fucked it up? Why am I calling it 'it'?
I took another drink of my gin martini and stared at the olive in quiet contemplation. Do I eat the olive? I usually do, but knowing my luck, that would be the exact moment that a respectable amount of time had passed and Pete and I were to speak again. I couldn't have my second conversation with Pete in a year and a half to also involve a green olive. That would be awkward. I think I have a new found liking for that word. Perhaps, I'll incorporate it into my vocabulary.
"You still wear those boots, I see." He grinned. Pete had one of those smiled that began in his eyes and spread to his lips, not the other way around. It was perfectly unique, but that was besides the point. He was doing it again. Reminding me. Shoving the past, our past, in my face. He bought these boots for me on my twenty first birthday from Urban Outfitters two years ago. They were black, and suede, complete with a .5 inch heel so as not to be too tall, and absolutely beautiful I pined over them for weeks and visited them in the store often to keep them company and let them know they were loved, even if from a far. Subtlety was never my strong point, but it paid off because Pete eventually purchased them for me.
"I have a life now, Pete." I pointed out. Like I said, subtlety was never my strong point.
"That's absurd, Charley. You've always had a life." He grinned. He was grinning at me again. He was proud of himself for being clever. Asshole.
"Right. Well, I have a Zak now."
"So it seems."
"Yes, so it does." Awkward. Awkward, awkward, awkward. I was really beginning to hate that word. Consider it officially out of my elite vocabulary. Such an awful word. Damn it to hell.
"What's a Zak?" He asked.
"That's a Zak." I said pointing to a boy with shaggy black hair with chunks of deep red incorporated in randomly. My doing, of course. I used my supply of mannequin heads long before I obtained my silence from school, so Zak graciously offered me his head instead. Well, he didn't so much offer. Grudgingly agreed would be a appropriate term. Always use sex as leverage. Girls always win in that situation.
"He looks familiar." Pete spoke casually. My eyes quickly darted to his face in hopes of discovering the meaning beneath the words. Was he bringing up that night in Waffle House as a discussion topic? Was this bait? Should I bite? Should I wait a respectable amount of time to do so? Jesus fucking Christ, I must get someone to explain that phrase to me.
Pete laughed. No, he chuckled. It was definitely more of a chuckle. Pete chuckled. Then he began walking closer to me. He was now officially out of conversation range. He had now stepped into a whole other range. In fact, he was now so close, there was no more range. There was barely space. There was Pete though. A lot of Pete. Pete's eyes and his lips and his left hand on my cheek. Why was Pete's hand on my cheek?
"It was good to see you, Charley." He spoke softly. He had a voice that reeked of cigarettes and tequila. Scratchy and sexy. He delicately removed a misplaced strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. Then like that, he was gone. Now there was plenty of space. My range had been returned. The absence of Pete left me feeling exposed and unstable. Fuck my legs for this. Shaky sons of bitches. Goddamn traitors.
I took notice of the amount of waiters that were now casually walking around taking orders. One was heading straight for me. Wonderful timing.
""Is this gin or vodka?" I asked taking hold of ne of the many the martinis that littered his tray. I was met with a blank stare. "You know what? Never mind. Just keep them coming. Thanks." Well, I'll be damned. The normal sized waiters are rudeasses too. This restaurant has no hope. Fucking hell.
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