Dr. Knowles smiles like a prehistoric primate about to pounce, perfect white teeth bared, but eyes set like lasers.
“That sounds… yes. That sounds great, thank you.”
I swipe a strudel and slam my ass into a seat.
So much for first impressions.
Chapter Three
Later that afternoon, I find myself lounging in a massive wooden tub filled with warm beer while holding a cold mug of beer in my hands and cheers-ing my friend Sasha. Yup, you heard all that correctly. I, a fully grown professional woman, am reclining in a tub of Budweiser. Well, actually, by the increasing smell of my skin, I’m guessing it’s gotta be something way hoppier than Bud. Spa treatments these days are hella weird.
“Cheers to your first day on the job, button. I’m so proud of you,” Sasha says with a wink from her own bubbling tub of beer.
“What the hell, Sash?”
“What? Hop in the Barrel is the place to go to unwind and relax after a hard day.”
“Yeah, I feel so relaxed,” I say with no small amount of sarcasm. “Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned mani-pedi situation?”
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
“Give you what?”
“Don’t act like you would have been perfectly fine with an old-fashioned mani-pedi situation. The last time I took you for champagne and a pedicure, you threatened to call PETA and get the place shut down.”
“You mean Bubbles and Nibbles at 12th and Walnut? Yeah, there was nothing old-fashioned about Bubbles and Nibbles on 12th and Walnut. They were forcing non-consenting Garra rufa fish to eat the dead skin off our feet while we sipped prosecco. It was inhumane, humiliating for me and for the poor fish, and frankly not at all relaxing. Tickled my toes like crazy.”
“Alright, but how did your feet feel afterward?”
“Fucking incredible.”
“See?”
“But my animal-loving soul died a small death that day. Not worth it. They did eventually get shut down, didn’t they?”
“I believe so, yeah. Last I checked, the corner of 12th and Walnut was now a Chipotle.”
“Mmmmm. Chipotle.”
“Bleh. If you value your digestive tract, you’ll stay far away from that establishment.”
“I don’t have a tender little tummy like you, lady. I could down a fleet of gas station hot dogs followed up by a side of Sour Patch Kids, then finish things off with a bag of barbecue pork rinds and not even flinch.”
“Your pride blooms around the most bizarre things.”
“What’s bizarre are these ridiculous spa treatments popping up these days. Drives me batty how so many of them arbitrarily pair activities just to be kitschy and fun.”
“Like what?”
I search my brain for examples. “Like… Pedi and Spaghetti.”
“Italian food and pedicures?”
“Subs and Rubs.”
“Hoagies and Massages?”
“Scoops and Poops!”
“Ice cream and colonics!? Where are these brilliant places, and why have I never heard of them?”
“Because they don’t exist, dummy! I’m making them up as we speak.”
“You’re gifted in so many ways, friend. Truly.”
“Thanks. But the ones that really get my goat are the ones that count on animal labor to relax and beautify us. I mean what the hell is going on there? Bird poop facials? Bull sperm hair conditioning? Snake massage?”
“Eh. The bull sperm hair conditioning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve gotten better results with Pert Plus. But I’m sure the bull wasn’t complaining about his part of the labor, so no worries there. Wink, wink, nod, nod.”
“Gross, Sasha. Just gross.”
“I like to try new things! And we, as women, deserve to be pampered once in a while. Especially when we do incredible things like land a killer job, in an extremely competitive male-dominated field, at a highly respected establishment like The Museum of Natural Sciences. Even if your first day didn’t go quite as planned. Now tell me exactly what the hell you’re doing there? I want to wrap my head around your brilliance.”
My heart rate picks up instantly with the opportunity to talk about what I love most.
“Well, it's this mind-blowing new exhibit we’re putting together called the ‘Trix and Monty Project.’ Get this. The museum acquired two amazing skeletons: a Tyrannosaurus—aka Trix—and an Edmontosaurus—aka Monty. They were excavated in South Dakota last summer, almost fully intact and together. Together!”
“Is that unusual?”
“FUCK YES!”
“Okay! Simmer down, baby girl! What do I know?!”
“It’s highly unusual! I mean, why in the world were a carnivorous, fierce-as-hell, solitary tyrannosaur and an herbivorous, duck-billed, migratory hadrosaur together, as in just the two of them, at the time of their deaths?”
“I dunno. You tell me! Were they fighting? Fucking?”
“Um, no. Tyrannosaurs and hadrosaurs didn’t fuck. That would be like… an alligator screwing an antelope, a wolf humping a squirrel, a lion boinking a chicken.”
“Holy judgment! Hashtag love is love, Calliope.”
“Anyway… there will be a big unveiling at the end of the month at the museum’s annual gala. Until then, we’re working our butts off to get the exhibit ready and creating all sorts of educational programming around it.”
“Killer! I’m so proud of you. Come here, girl. Clink me again.”
“Thanks, Sash.”
We clink and drink. I splash around in my beer bath for a moment.
“My beer bath doesn’t happen to be sponsored by Spencer’s Spirits, does it? Because I think I’d feel a bit weird if I was nearly naked in one of your dad’s concoctions.”
”No, girl. Our company is liquor, not beer.”
“Right, I knew that, sorry. Hey, I didn’t mean to bitch before. I’m psyched to be here. I don’t say it enough, but I love the shit out of you and I appreciate everything you do.“
“Aw. Ditto, boo.”
“You’re certainly the best damn thing that came out of my time at Our Lady of Sorrows, I’ll tell you that. Gosh, that’s some terrible marketing right there, isn’t it? How can you name an establishment, religious or otherwise, Our Lady of Sorrows and expect anyone to be happy there?”