The American and The Brit: Unsolicited Advice

by K A Young

  The yellow invoice on the kitchen bar drew my attention. I picked it up along with another can of cider and walked into the immaculate living room, then sunk down onto the contemporary modern cream sectional sofa next to Liz who was chugging her second can. I examined the invoice reading the outstanding balance of two hundred and fifty dollars.

  Liz looked over my shoulder to read the amount owed before I sighed and crumpled it, then tossed it on the floor. “I can cover that.”

  “No! You weren’t even living here during this bill cycle. It’s on me.” The delicious mouthful of cider slid down my throat, and I decided to just put this aside for now. I sighed, nearly burping before I stood and kicked the crumpled up invoice farther across the room and remembered how hungry I was. Ice cream sounded good, so the freezer was the first place I went after I’d walked into the kitchen reveling in the cider buzz. I retrieved the last of the Moose Tracks. “Oh, I know what I want to be when I grow up now.” I changed the subject as I grabbed two semi-clean spoons off the counter.

  “Yeah, what?” Liz asked when I sat back down and handed her the spoon.

  “Bullshit Man—I mean, Woman.” I scooped up a giant spoonful as Liz just stared at me as if I’d grown two heads. In shock that she was oblivious of the bald groundbreaker, I extracted my phone from my back pocket and pulled up YouTube. “This is my new hero, Karl Pilkington. He’s the idiot in the series, The Idiot Abroad.” I shoved the spoonful into my mouth as I handed the phone to Liz. That my hero was referred to as an idiot didn’t faze me in the slightest. Most geniuses are accused of that affliction at some point in their career.

  "I watched a few back home but I didn't think he was that funny. Everyone raves about him, though."

  “You can’t be serious? The guy is a riot.”

  “I am.” She swallowed her ice cream. “I only laughed at one episode.”

  “Well, whether you think he’s funny or not isn’t the point, although he is hilarious,” I began around another mouthful of ice cream. “The point is there is far too much bullshit in the world like he so cleverly points out, and we need a hero like Bullshit Man. Oh, I have an idea he and I could team up, we’d be the Bullshit Justice League.” I laughed. “I’d be so good at it too. And if you’re willing to give your life to the cause we might let you join the league. Oh,” I sat up straight, flinging ice cream across the room. “Maybe that’s what the medium meant—we were to change the world as the Bullshit League.” The room was spinning a little. I must be dehydrated; more cider it would be.

  "You're already like that!" Liz exclaimed. “That’s how you lost our jobs.” I glared at her. “Sorry, I’m letting it go now. Back to your bullshit idea, you are really like that. And not in a bad way.” She was a bit drunk too.

  “I am, aren’t I?” I grinned, letting her insult roll off my back. As I set my empty can on the end table it dawned on me that to be a superhero you really needed a costume. All the good superheroes had them. “But Liz, I need a cape and the ability to fly.” I washed down the ice cream with another giant gulp of cider. “Oh, you know what this is?” I held up the can and took a Superman stance.

  “Sanity juice?” Liz snorted.

  “Yes, but no. It is Bullshit Man’s courage! Fueled with enough liquid courage, we’ll stomp out all the bullshit in the world!” I suddenly lost my train of thought. “I think I might be drunk.”

  "Yeah, me too, but not nearly enough to come up with any brilliant ideas yet.” That was true. I hadn’t thought of any either. “Oh!” She nearly leapt off the couch spilling cider on my shirt. We both laughed until tears were present. “Let's play the ‘Never Have I Ever' game. I saw it on an episode of The Vampire Diaries before I left the UK, it looked fun. Although I wish the Salvatore brothers were playing it too. I'd like to play a lot of games with them."

  After I was able to speak again I agreed. “Okay, I’m game. You start.”

  Lizbeth

  The Day After the Night Before

  I woke to the sound of the stereo blasting “Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves” and Phoebe screeching along with it, trying desperately to hit the high notes. The room was spinning rapidly and focusing was totally out of my realm of capabilities at the moment as I gave my best effort not to hurl last night’s cider all over the room. Why in God’s name was my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth? I'm dying; I can't feel my legs Death by cider, not a bad way to go. Rolling onto my side and squinting at the clock on my bedside table, I couldn't make out if it was ten till seven o’clock, nine o’clock or ten o’clock. I spied the pint of water I'd prepared for myself with the note attached that read, Drink this, bonehead, before you go to sleep. Ugh, why couldn’t it be an overcast day? I needed the sun to disappear since I didn't possess the energy to close the blinds any more than they already were. Deciding on the next best option, I threw the duvet over my head.

  "Rise and shine, British Bird, today is going to be a great day! The sun is shining, the birds are singing and we're still alive!" The all too cheerful Phoebe whipped the duvet off of me and began bouncing at the foot of the bed. I knew if I didn't get her to stop soon my beloved cider would make a reappearance.

  "How in God’s name are you not hungover?” I groaned.

  “Oh, I am, but I refuse to lay around and waste this gorgeous day. I refuse to allow you to do it too.”

  “Phoebs, please stop. Besides, I'm not entirely sure about the being alive part." I gagged and she instantly stopped the infernal shaking of my bed. "Why are you so happy, anyway? We didn’t come up with any brilliant plans last night, did we?” I rubbed my aching forehead. “And what the bloody hell happened after we watched that show on kangaroos? Please tell me we didn't get into duvet covers and bounce around the complex pretending to be one. I did dream that, didn't I?"

  “You did. You are a weird one, aren’t you? Who the hell dreams about kangaroos?” She leaned down and peered into my face. And she called me a weirdo. “Good God, you need some vitamin D! You’re so pale that it hurts my eyes to even look at you.” She went over and raised the blinds.

  "I'm a vampire, remember? I don't like the sun. Now close the blinds before I burst into flames. You'd be sorry then." My mouth felt like something had crawled in there and died. I needed to scrub my mouth out, so I cautiously slid from my bed and began to crawl to the bathroom on my hands and knees. Phoebe, without a care for my discomfort, stepped right over me on her way out of the room. Some friend she was. You’d never find her holding my hair back in the bathroom while I puked my guts out. No, she’d be hurrying me along so she could fry me in the sun to get her beloved dumbass vitamin D.

  "I'm cooking you a full English breakfast to celebrate," Phoebe shouted from our little kitchen. Celebrate what? Me not dying from alcohol poisoning? I should have from the amount of cider I’d consumed last night. What on earth was I thinking? My reflection in the mirror convinced me that last night had been a very bad idea. I swore that I'd never drink again and then I laughed at myself. After a quick shower, a pint of water and some painkillers, I headed to my room to get dressed. Phoebe had laid out a pair of her Calvin Klein blingy arse jeans and a vest top for me to wear. No chance in hell! I grabbed my black skinny jeans and nerd t-shirt from my dresser and put them on quickly, before she came in and we had the same old conversation about blingy arse jeans and how they're in and how my boring skinny jeans were most definitely not.

  My stomach growled when the scent of bacon wafted my direction. "Kill or cure," I mumbled to myself as I made my way to the kitchen. Phoebe had cleaned the whole apartment. She was in a good mood; I’m the one that usually did the tidying up. She had her back to me, frying some eggs and singing into the spatula while bumping and grinding to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies”. I couldn't help but laugh as I sat at the breakfast bar and watched the show. I loved when she was like this. She was completely off her head. We had the world on our shoulders and hardly had two pennies to rub together and Phoebe looked like she hadn't a care in the world.
Stuff it, I thought as I grabbed the wooden spoon from the utensil holder and jumped up just as Beyoncé sang “Put your hands up”. Phoebe spun around without missing a beat and we joined forces in creating our own Destiny’s Child. Phoebe hit the remote to the next song and we were in full swing with “Bills, Bills, Bills”, lost in our performance when the smoke alarm started blaring.

  "Shit! The bacon." Phoebe was racing around our tiny kitchen like Roadrunner attempting to waft the smoke out of the small kitchen window before turning the gas off and placing the smoky pan into the sink. “Hot, hot, hot!” she screeched and began running cold water over her fingers.

  "You should have used an oven mitt,” I reminded her absently. She shot me a double bird before laughing the whole incident off.

  “Smartass.” My eyes darted back to the cooker where the ruined eggs were fried to a blackened crisp and she grumbled with another shrug, “Erm...let's go out for breakfast. I'm starving and I've cremated Babe."

  After I shivered with a cringe I ordered, "Don't mention Babe, you know I stopped eating bacon for a whole ten months after watching that stupid film."

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She gave me an evil grin. Like hell she was sorry.

  We grabbed our bags and linked arms. Phoebe, in another pair of her blinging arse jeans, and me in my not boring black skinny ones went for the door, both of us grunting and oinking. We were in our own insane little world as always.

  Just as Phoebe was locking up I nudged her and attempted unsuccessfully to make her aware that last night’s security guard was heading our way. I only had one option now. I reared back and kicked her in the shin "What the fu—" she shouted.

  To save her from another blunder I quickly interjected, "Hi, nice to see you again," then stared at Phoebe before nodding toward him. She spun around in a fit of moronic giggles. “This is Phoebe” I nudged her again, this time with a lot more force, nearly shoving her into him. I tried hard not to laugh at the look of horror that came across her face. After I’d successfully gathered my composure I added, “And I’m Liz.”

  His eyes went from Phoebe to me. It was too late; he thought we were complete nutters. “Nice to meet both of you,” he squeaked and gave us a polite smile. “I’m Derrick.”

  When my attempt to smile failed I gave him a polite nod. I was doing quite well controlling myself until Phoebe and I made eye contact. Dammit, now we were both fighting for our composure. The problem is, when Phoebe and I find something hilarious we can't keep it at bay unless we look in opposite directions and desperately try to think of other things. We’re miserable excuses for human beings. We find the most inappropriate things funny. Thank goodness this wasn’t one of those really inappropriate things, like when she came to visit me a few years back. I’d brought her along when I had to visit a friend in the hospital who had an unfortunate accident where she took a head dive down a flight of stairs. Phoebe had been laughing the whole way over as I told her the story. I made her swear not to laugh when we were in the room. Sensitivity and empathy were traits that we both lacked. She did as I had asked and was doing quite well, until we made eye contact. Phoebe and I were in stitches for a good five minutes when we saw her trussed up in a sling and casts. Needless to say, that friendship was dissolved on the spot. After that day we made a pact to never look at each other when we were in this sort of predicament. She’d broken the vow, cutting her eyes in my direction.

  Phoebe and I both gave in to the fit of giggles that we had been fighting from the second Derrick had introduced himself. Where did that voice come from? Had he been inhaling helium?

  After he gave us the look, he bid us a good day and went on with whatever he was here to do. Phoebe and I were accustomed to that look. It was that are you sure you're not a few fries short of a happy meal look. We no longer take it personally. We’ve embraced our lunacy, which is far easier to do than one might think.

  Phoebe

  A Seed Is Planted

  While I sat across the table from Liz at Cracker Barrel, with its homey atmosphere and the delicious smell of country cooking, I felt much better. There was something about the smell of good Southern food being served that made me feel that everything would somehow be all right. Ridiculous, I know, but right now I’ll take my comforts where I can get them.

  After we’d sufficiently stuffed our faces and I’d gotten over the mortification of being nearly knocked headfirst into Mickey Mouse, I saw a paper lying on the table just vacated by a single woman in a business suit. She’d circled several ads in it. My hand snaked out to snatch it up before the busboy came around and removed it. Pleased with myself, I looked it over. It couldn’t hurt; I planned to upload our resumes to Monster later and try to get us back on our feet. Worried a bit about the reference my former employer would provide and the situation with Liz’s work visa weighed heavily on my mind. I wasn’t saying a word about it though. It would be okay. I would find a way to make it okay.

  “You broke the pact,” Liz commented absently as she sipped on her coffee.

  Here we go I made a face to show my distaste “I knew you were going to blame it on me! Why is it always my fault? I contest, as I always do, that if you’d been looking elsewhere instead of at me then we wouldn’t have lost it. So we both broke the pact and I rest my case.”

  Liz was eyeing someone behind me oddly. “Do you know that chick sitting two tables behind you? She’s been pointing and whispering to her friend for the last five minutes.”

  As inconspicuously as possible I turned in my chair and spied a heavyset blonde with a big teased poofball for bangs and recognized her instantly. Damn, I could never catch a break. “Yeah, I know her. I went to school with her. She’s a real bitch,” I whispered to Liz as I turned back around.

  “She’s really giving you the stink eye. What’s the story?” When I didn’t reply right away Liz pressed. “Come on, Phoebs, I know you too well Now spill.”

  I didn’t mind telling her, so after a shrug, I leaned forward and gave her the four-one-one on the whole ordeal.

  Liz leaned back and began laughing. “That’s so you! I can’t believe you threatened — uh oh” She picked up her mug and whispered, “She’s coming over.”

  “What?” Before I could escape our table was invaded.

  “Hello, Phoebe,” the blonde chick all but growled.

  Looking up blankly I asked, “Do I know you?”

  She huffed. “You know darn well who I am, Phoebe Hawkins!”

  Whatever. I crossed my arms over my chest and replied, “How are you, Paige?”

  “How am I? I’ll tell you how I am! I’m still waiting for the apology you owe me.” God, this chick really needed to get a life.

  “I don’t have the foggiest idea what you are talking about.” Liz let out a small giggle before she concealed it with a cough.

  “Oh yes, you do! You assaulted me, and then threatened me with further damage if I told anyone! I’ve been waiting for an apology for years and I’m not leaving here without getting one.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” I elaborately rolled my eyes for effect. “You were a bitch in junior high, you said something I didn’t like so I stomped your arm while you were lying on the floor to make a point. The threat to mangle your face was just for good measure. I would have been doing you a disservice by allowing you to continue life being a bitch.” Paige huffed in response, her face turning the shade of a beet.

  Liz cleared her throat. “I apologize for interrupting, but I must add. The person who actually mangled your face should be the focus of your anger, not Phoebe. And hon, if I had a face like yours I'd teach my arse to speak.”

  A bark of laughter left my lips, which in turn caused Liz to burst out laughing, both of us were guffawing until giant tears ran down our cheeks. Paige took off out of there like a bullet. “Wait, Paige, don’t go!” I called after her and received an inappropriate gesture in response. Some people have no class.

  “Well, that was fun,” I commented after regaining
my composure and eating the last of my biscuit.

  “Best part of my day so far,” Liz laughed. “Some people just don’t take unsolicited advice well. It’s sad, really. We were only trying to help that poor girl. She was totally stuck in the past.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed and sat back, waiting as the waitress pre-bussed the table, hoping to turn the table swiftly. I understood it; I’d waited tables in my teens. The longer we sat the less money she made. At least she had a job. I laid the paper on the now partially clean table that had been clutched in my hand during the whole Paige ordeal. “Can you believe that people are still buying newspapers? I mean, really, why would you choose this?” I held up the messy paper. “Over a tablet or a screen? It won’t be long until these are in a museum.”

  Liz shook her head at me and tried not to appear offended when the waitress went to take her near empty plate. After the waitress left Liz leaned over and whispered, “I still don’t understand why these restaurant staffers don’t wait until everyone is finished before swooping in and confiscating the plates.” She went utterly silent when the waitress came rushing back to leave the check. “Sorry.” She smiled weakly at her, stunning the poor girl with her ridiculous apology. The girl didn’t know how to respond so she just left.

  I had to laugh, “Liz stop apologizing all the time.”

  "In the UK you have to practically force your waiter or waitress to take a tip and they never move that fast. It's like they don't want you to leave—they keep coming back and asking if you need anything else. Plus, you know I can't stop apologizing. It's something that has been drummed into me for twenty odd years.” She snatched up her mug and clutched it to her chest before the waitress could take it away. “Anything of interest in there?" Liz flicked the back of the newspaper, making me jump.