"Johnny 99" by Kirk Sprockett
Johnny 99
When he returned to work everyone clapped. He still had on the boot and someone had put a big red bow right at his station, above the grill, and he had to move it to start the burgers. Everyone patted him on the back and told him not to slip, to watch his step, to steer clear. It was a good feeling, like it was his birthday. If only there had been an easier way to get all the appreciation. People asked him what he was going to do first and he said go to Fishbowl, and offered to buy anyone a drink who came by the place. He knew a few of them would.
Johnny played foosball every Saturday night at the bar. It was called Fishbowl and he ran the place. Not like he was the manager, but just in the sense that he’d been coming there every Saturday since he was sixteen and nobody could beat him. He'd sit by the table every night, starting around 8, with a bucket of beers and wait for kids to come up and put quarters in. They always wanted someone else to play. He’d take on two of them at once, or volunteer to be the fourth, and sometimes he’d just practice by himself and miss the goal to try and hustle. It always worked and they were always terrible, just playing for something to do until the bar filled up or until their drinks were gone. Later in the night people would challenge him, and even though he was drunk, too, he owned the place. It was his every Saturday night. Then he’d go home and sleep it off.
So he invited everyone. They all hung out at the Skull, the townie bar for old people and bikers, and hated going to the student bars up the street. But the Skull didn’t have his game and anyway their beer tasted like piss. He’d wander after there, sometimes, and smoke a pack while everyone was fucked up from the whole night and most of them never even remembered he’d stopped by. “What’d you do all weekend? We missed you, you should’ve come by.” He’d just smile and say maybe next weekend. It wasn’t too terrible a place. Really he was hard on it. They sold lucies for a quarter.
It felt good to be back, good to hear his name. Used to be they called him Johnny 99, but no one was around that remembered it and when he introduced himself as Johnny 99, the kids were probably too drunk to remember or just not listening.
He couldn’t wait to get back to his bar, to play some games. Every couple Saturdays he’d recognize a kid from the dining hall, or see that they recognized him, and sometimes they’d say something but they never knew what to say. And what would he want them to say? “Love your cooking?” “Thanks for the food?” “See you Monday?” He wasn’t even sure if they could taste the food they made, or if they just ate it to get it over with. To them it was just something to tick off a box. “Oh, yeah, I used to eat at a dining hall in college. It was horrible.” No one ever said it was great.
He’d been there since he was sixteen, too. Started out cleaning the floors in the morning before he had school when he lived with mom, then they hired him back when he got back to town after his stint and had him washing dishes. They all knew he was a good guy, had just ran into some of the wrong people. Sometime around his twenties they started letting the students work there so they did the dishes and handed out the food and they asked him to cook so he could stay around. He’d never cooked in his life but it wasn’t that hard, they only ever made the same few things. He’d put a trash bag over his arm and stick it into a vat of noodles to stir. He’d take the meat out of the freezer and fry every patty for the same four minutes a side. Dual-wielding spatulas felt right. Sometimes he’d have to chop lettuce if they were out. It was easy.
So easy that he didn’t even realize it when he started cooking, had already fried one half the burgers. Was easy to get lost in thought here, too, but wasn’t as bad because eventually the burgers would sizzle and he’d come back. But they were still cooking.
The years flew by. When mom died he rented an apartment that already had furniture for a small monthly fee. Started buying shoes for support instead of style. Eventually put a lease on a car that he was still paying off.
There were women, sure, but he wasn’t made of that stuff, not really. Not for the long haul, that is. They came and went and mostly wanted to go somewhere else, or get him to do something else, and they only ever liked foosball and the bar for the first couple dates and then the truth always came out: they hated the place, it was sad, he was sad, and all those kids were just jokers that didn’t care.
So they came and went, like that, and eventually he was older. Got some gray hair. Got new floors in the apartment and slipped on them and broke his leg, had to miss work for three whole months. That was the first time in twenty five years he ever missed any work and couldn’t go out and that was the first time in his life he stopped to think about things. It had taken a broken leg to get him to think about things and he didn’t really know how to do it. He’d pace back and forth in his apartment best he could, putting on the tv and music and drinking and still it wouldn’t stop. Even when he was sleeping he was thinking. He hated it. In the mornings he’d stare out the window and know that all the thoughts would come again, just like students in the Fall. He got rid of his phone years ago because he’d spend his whole day googling different things to think about and then he spent the whole day on it and his brain felt like mush. It was like he couldn’t win, it was either/or. Thinking or not thinking. No in-between. So in those three months he only had the thoughts in his head. Which was maybe worse.
Someone told him to try writing them down so he had a notepad and a box of pens delivered from Amazon and gave it a shot but they were still there, only now he could read them, too. What good did that do? He burned the paper with the liquor.
“I’m Jenny,” a voice said behind him. He turned to see a woman his age with red and black hair. She had on an apron.
“Oh,” he said. “Johnny.” And gave her an elbow bump because his gloves were on and he had to get back to the burgers.
“That’s funny,” she said. “That you’re Johnny and I’m Jenny.” She was smiling like she thought it was the funniest thing in the world.
“Yeah,” he answered. “It is pretty funny.”
“I started here a few weeks ago. Everyone talks about you. Glad you’re back!”
“Thanks,” he said. “Me too. You can come on Saturday too, if you want. We usually play foosball. At Fishbowl”
“That sounds fun,” she said, and walked to the back freezer. New people always got stuck on the freezer. They don’t let students work in the freezer because they always went in there to be on their phones. He felt a little bad for her and smiled as the patties went sizzle.
So Saturday came and he put on his best. Old blue jeans, a plaid collar shirt, and even left his hat off. He still had his hair but mostly he was too lazy to do anything with it, and at work he had to wear a net anyway. His dad never lost his hair, but he also didn’t live long enough to have much of a chance. Johnny liked his, though. His chances. Mom said it would stay and she was usually right about things until she died.
Campus in the Spring was always something new, which was funny because the kids were all doing the same things. But the winter was over and in the summers they still worked but the menu was smaller and there was more time to hang out. So Spring, in a way, was just a heads up that Summer was coming, which was sort of something new overall. He’d have his new floors for the first time, too, and he’d get to be on them more over the summer. The landlord paid half so really only every other step was his, but they looked good and he figured he’d keep staying there even though they started letting kids live in the building.
Walking down the street he knew the table would be his and when he got in he saw that it was. There was never anyone around Fishbowl this early (a couple stragglers from after a ball game in the Fall, maybe), but not today. He went and got his bucket of beers and did a shot for himself and sat the bucket by the table and waited. After an hour and three beers, the other cooks showed up. There was Bruce and Mark and Darlene, Trish, and Patty. They showered him with gifts of shots and beers and pub food - pretzels with hot cheese, a pizza, tater tots - and for two hours they played with him. For two hours he beat them, beat them all, in every combination. They screamed and spun the wheels and knocked elbows and the music got louder so they got louder and the lights got dimmer so they leaned closer. He beat Bruce and Mark, then Darlene and Trish, then patty played with Bruce and he beat them all again, even with the handicap. Darlene and Mark teamed up, then Trish came on his team and he let her score a goal. There was an old chalk scoreboard, fashioned from an old dart board, and they wrote his name in big letters and put a circle on it.
“Johnny 99.”
After a while they all wanted to leave and go to The Skull so he looked around and thought about it before saying no, he would stay here for a little bit longer, win a few more games and see if anyone came around. He’d see them later, and he meant it. They might not see him, or remember seeing him, but he’d come by for a piss ale and a lucy or two. It was always a good nightcap.
So he poked around for a while and schooled some kids. They were always in big circles and would take turns popping their bubble to come and play him, to ask if he had quarters, to see if they’d play for a beer. He always had quarters and he always had beers to give up. Halfway through a game a girl came up to play goalie for him and screamed and shook the table and he almost gave one up. He had to go outside to cool off and bum a cig. It really pissed him off when people broke the rules. The kids didn’t ever understand or if they did they didn’t have any respect. He didn’t know which was worse. You follow the rules, and you win when you can. That’s life. You can’t just jump up to someone’s table mid-game. You have to earn it.
He was about to do something when he felt a tap on the shoulder.
“What do you-”
“Hey!” Jenny said. She had on a short black dress and a checkered coat with a purse, and her hair looked big and done. “I was worried you’d all be gone! I was running so late when I got off, and then there was the bus, and all these kids in the cross walks…”
“Jenny,” he said. “Jenny!” He threw up his hands and smiled. “You made it! Everyone already went to The Skull but I’ve been in here playing some games. Wanna come in?”
She looked past him and made a face, like she was looking inside really hard trying to see but the windows were too tinted, and anyway the lights were off in there. “You hang out here?”
“I run the foosball table,” he said. “Come on.” He flew to the door and opened it, then stopped her and took a chance. “Do you want to be on my team?”
He got them a beer and a shot and went to his side of the table.
“I’ve never played before,” she said. She threw back the shot like it was air and on her beer bottle her saw her nails were painted black. There were a few groups of kids around looking at them and at their phones.
“Never?!”
“Never,” she said.
“Well come on, finish your drink. Hey you! Wanna play again?” It was the girl from earlier and a group of guys. Two guys giggled and she went to the back of the crowd. “Come on,” Johnny side. “Beers to the winner. Any of you two. And I’ve got a handicap.”
“Hey,” Jenny said. “I might be good.”
Two guys came up and finished their drinks. “Just watch the ball,” Johnny said. “The only thing you gotta worry about is the goal. Don’t let anyone into the goal.”
“They can get into the goal?”
“The ball! I mean the ball.”
“Ok, got it,” she said, smiling and putting on a serious face.
Johnny dropped the ball in the box and shot one right into the goal. She laughed and hit into him, said something about a job. He dropped it in again and the boys across volleyed for a few seconds and shot directly on the goal, where Jenny was holding still. She didn’t even move, just got lucky. He whipped the midfield pole and sent the table shaking at the force of the ball in the goal. She said wow, could she drop it in this time? The boys across took advantage and shot it right into their goal before she could get back in place, which was really her fault for not being ready. She was watching the ball too closely. The boys dropped it in and Johnny sank it after five volleys, then another after six, then another after four. The entire time she didn’t really help. “Can I drop it in again?” she asked. “You can hold it with me.” So they dropped it in together and won.
“We got one on you man! Put it on the board everyone, we got one over on Johnny Foosball! Woo!” A bunch of kids cheered and laughed and took a video with the flash on. It got really hot in the bar and Johnny was watching them scratch two names onto the board even though they didn’t win and they erased his name that everyone had put up on the board earlier.
“That was fun,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. They were taking pictures with the board, the two guys who scored the goal. He could tell because the flash was on.
“Hey,” Jenny said. “You wanna go somewhere else and grab a real drink? Somewhere quieter?” She smiled again like she had in the kitchen the day before.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure.” It didn’t seem like anyone else wanted to play.
She took him to a place he’d never been, two blocks off the main street of bars. It was a Mediterranean place he’d never been to, had never even known about. They walked in and there were purple and gold curtains and a quiet dining room with a little music playing, and everyone was dressed fancy and drinking wine and staring at him. There was a little bar, though, so she muscled her way through the crowd and he followed. The seats were like big buckets and he felt caved in, but the bartender came up right away. She ordered a Tanqueray and wine and one for him after the bartender said the only beer was Stella.
“Are you having a good night?” she asked, flipping her hair and turning toward him.
“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said. “I was playing well for a while there.”
“You do that a lot?” She had her hand under her chin, like she was holding her head up.
“Foosball? Every saturday.”
“Same place?”
“Yep, forever,” he said. “I run the table.”
“Anyone ever come and play?”
“Kids always play.”
The bartender brought their drinks and she gave him a clink of cheers. It was sweet and tasted like a grape tree. There wasn’t much in the glass. She took a smaller sip than him and it was already almost gone.
“I usually stick to beer, maybe whiskey,” he said. Lasts longer.
“This is the best place I’ve found here yet. It’s like a real bar, you know? No stupid kids sitting around and screaming. And my shoes don’t stick to the floor.” She looked around then turned back to him and smiled.
“Ha, yeah, there's that.”
“Oh my god,” she said, putting her drink down. "I didn’t mean it like that.” He still had the boot on. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, I know you didn’t mean it like that. It’s alright. It’s true. I wish my floors had been that sticky.”
“How’d it happen?”
“I just slipped,” he said. “I got those new floors. Couldn’t wait all day for ‘em. Got home, poured a beer to celebrate, slipped on the way to the couch. Landed funny, knew it was broke. I guess my bones are old.”
“I feel you there,” she said, taking another drink. “What’d you do all that time? You were off.”
He thought, looked over his shoulder at all the people eating. “Nothing, really. Tried not to think I guess. Almost went crazy.”
“Feel cooped up?”
“I guess,” he shrugged. “Hate just thinking all the time.”
“That why you like foosball so much?”
He frowned and went to take a drink but stopped. “Maybe,” he said. “Never thought about it like that.” He took the drink.
“It looks like you have fun.”
“Hey, how’d you end up here?” he asked. “If you don’t mind.”
She smiled at the end of her sip and looked down. “My sister went to school here, and I remembered liking it when I visited. I needed a new place to go and she’s not that far from here. I could go live with her, but she’s really in the middle of nowhere. There's life here, though.”
“Until summer comes, then it’s the best.”
“I was thinking of staying with her in the summer, actually. From what I gather they don’t need as many of us.”
“Nah, they don’t, but they’ll give you hours. If you want. There's summer classes and orientations and stuff.”
“We’ll see,” she said, twirling her glass like there was something weird in it. “How did you end up here?”
“How do you mean?”
“How’d you land here at this place?”
“I’ve always been here,” he said. “Born here, grew up here, had this job when I was a boy.”
“Any family here?”
“Not anymore,” he said, and put his head down without realizing. “I guess I could go somewhere else but I dunno where I’d go, to be honest.”
“It’s a good place,” she said, touching his shoulder. “Most places are the same, at least you have a place here.”
“Yeah,” he said, thinking about the table but she was probably talking about the job.
“You’re handsome,” she said.
“Oh,” he replied, a bit surprised. She took her hand away. No one ever told him that. He had sort of a droopy face and old skin, and now he was limping. He had his hair, though. And maybe she liked the scars.
“Oh my god,” she said. “I’m sorry. This is actually my third drink. That was weird.”
“No, no,” he said. “You’re handsome too, you know. Pretty, I should say.”
She smiled and blushed and finished her drink so he finished his. She ordered two more and they came while they were sitting in silence.
She took a big gulp and pulled out her phone. “Look, I’m a little drunk. But it’s really nice to talk to someone. Can you put your number in here?”
He looked down at her phone and shrugged. “I don’t have one,” he said.
“What?”
“People just call me at work. Besides, everyone I know is pretty much there.”
“What do you mean? You don’t have a phone? Not even an Android?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” he said.
“Oh.” she coughed and took another sip. She still had a lot left.
“I sort of like it. I never saw the point in all the clicking around. Kids just use them to point at stuff instead of doing stuff. You know?”
“Well shoot,” she said.
“What?”
“You got a last name? Give me it, I’ll look you up on Facebook. We can message. You got a computer?”
He couldn’t think of what to say no to first. He didn’t have a Facebook, no. He had a computer for a while. He threw it out when he got rid of the phone. Facebook was just another thing that made him think, and if she had his last name she’d see the articles and everything and she’d think she knew everything but he wasn’t who he was, was who he was now.
“Well?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t have anything for you.”
She looked at him and he thought maybe she wanted him to explain some more but there wasn’t anything else to say, he was only what she saw right there at the bar.
“Alright,” she said. She was turning the other way, like there was someone on the other side. She was shifting just a little bit. Like readying for a defense.
“Yeah, alright.”
“Well, like I said. I’m pretty drunk and tired and it’s still my first week here. Can I see you at work on Monday then? Since you don’t have a phone.”
“Well, hey, you still got some drink left.”
“I’m tired. I’ll just see you on Monday.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll see you on Monday at work.”
She left and her drink was still half full on the table. He raised his eyes to the bartender and asked for the check before downing his and taking her’s. The bill was an entire bar-tab anywhere else. Each drink was twelve dollars. He pulled out sixty in cash and left it on the table and downed her drink and went outside to where it was cool.
She probably hated him now, thought he was weird, or wanted to text him and couldn’t and then she’d hate him for that. She’d find someone she could text, or call, or someone who liked Tanqueray and tine. It was all the same to him. She’d probably go home and google him, find his name somewhere or probably already did know his name because everyone had name tags in the kitchen with their last names, too. He always meant to ask for one that said Johnny 99 and never got around to it. It wouldn’t be hard to find him with just a first name and his job.
She’d google him and see things. Old pictures, the mug shot, maybe high school pictures from the paper when he played soccer. It wasn’t that bad but the internet didn’t explain that. He was young and drunk and someone cheated at the table, slipped the ball over the edge, and he hit him a few times. Hit his friends, too. So what? He didn’t know the kid’s dad was a lawyer. All the kids here had a dad who was someone. So what, the kid fell into the street and got hit again. It was the car that knocked his teeth out. The kid was walking in a year, it ended up alright. But she’d see those pictures and nothing else because in some ways there was nothing else to see. He was just a guy who ran a table and cooked food and someday the kids would laugh about him. He wasn’t an idiot. He saw their phones in front of their faces and the lights and the keyboards that clacked when the flash turned off. He was probably all over their phones. They made fun of him, probably. Maybe he was a joke on Twitter. But probably because they couldn’t beat him. If he let them win they might not be so mean but he couldn’t do that. For whatever reason he couldn’t give in to that.
When he walked back to Fishbowl he could see a girl sitting on the table from the window and people around her dancing. The chalkboard was too dark to see but the place was crowded and he’d never win back the table now so he went on to The Skull. By this time, they’d all be drunk. Wasting away drinking at the same old place with the same old people, never leaving a mark anywhere. He’d get a lucy and a beer and watch them pass out. Better than thinking about her all night. Better than thinking about anything. Maybe that’s what the games were about, after all.
Kirk Sprockett is a writer based in Los Angeles. His writings have appeared in Midcult, Slackjaw, and on the shelves of comic stores in his series NOT YET and TONIGHT’S TOP STORY. He lives in a cozy apartment with his girlfriend and their two cats, Simon and Slippin’ Jimmy.