Today, you're going to stare at a phone.

"GI, you buy?"

"Jesus jumped-up Christ!  Stop it, you two!"

The two guys in Famous Stars And Straps T-shirts look over at you from the pool table at the other end of the bar, where they have been trying with minimal success to balance a pitcher of Coors Light on the tip of a pool cue.  One of them mutters 'cunt' and the other one giggles.  You roll your eyes.

You glance at the phone as you run a towel over the surface of the bar.  What the phone looks like is it's black.  What the phone sounds like is silent.

"Did I ever tell you that I had a sexual act named after me?"

You look over at Richard.  "In Vietnam, right?"

What Richard looks like is old.  His skin is made up of dry, cracked leather and you have never seen the top of his head beneath the army cap he always wears.  Richard's left leg was blown off below the knee by shrapnel in the war.  He has a prosthetic leg but apparently it's quite painful to walk on, so he ends up usually carrying it under his arm and hops back and forth to the bathroom.

Richard has been coming to the bar you work at during the day from 3:00 to 8:00 everyday since you started 3 years ago.  Richard is your best friend.

"That's right, Vietnam."

You smile and pull your hair back into a ponytail.  "Tell me all about it."

Richard takes a sip of his White Russian between nicotine stained lips.  It's obvious he enjoys this as much as you do.  "Well it's simple really.  I was on MP duty and I decided to get myself a whore."

His stories are most commonly centered around the bustling prostitute situation in 'Nam.  "Wait," you interrupt.  "Is this the one about how you didn't realize you were fucking on an anthill until it was too late?  Cuz I've heard it already."

Richard shakes his head.  "No no...this is a different one.  Anyway, so I take her into the chopper, right?  I lay her down on these flak jackets and she takes this questionable looking condom out of her little peasant dress and tries to grab my junk.  So I say no, no, mama-san.  Richard-san in the mood for some spelunking, and I go down on this little broad faster than a broken elevator.  And she's screeching and hollering and basically making a scene until I finish, wipe my mouth, and go back out on MP duty.

"Right," you reply.

He takes another sip of his drink.  "Then my buddy Harris decides he wants a go at here, and when he goes into the helicopter I just hear what sounds like an argument.  You know, what an argument would sound like when two people who don't speak each others languages try to argue.  But I just minded my own business and he comes out with all his clothes on and storms off.  I asked him what was wrong and he says that I am one sick motherfucker.  He says that the little vietnamese mama-san wouldn't let him fuck her, but she demanded that he gave her some "Richard-San."  Then she pointed."

Richard points downward in the universal gesture for "gimme some head."

Your listening, but your staring at the phone.  "That's classic, Richard."

He looks at you.  At the phone.  "So, he's not calling, eh?"

"Is it that obvious?"  You sigh.

"It was only a couple of dates, right?"

"Yes, but-"  you prepare to give a complete diagnosis of what the situation might be, why he won't call, why you want him to call, etc etc etc.  However, before you can, Richard interrupts you.
"Becca, it's a certifiable fact that the more you stare at the phone, and the more you try NOT to stare at the phone, the more the phone will stare right back at you in complete silence.  They are selfish, unfeeling machines that have no concept of how insanely inappropriate it is to not ring when you want them to."

"Well, I don't do that all the time," you say.  "Only when it's from a certain number."

"I could give you some advice, but I don't think your evolved enough as a human to take it."

"Try me."

He winks lecherously at you.  "Make tender love to a tired old alcoholic who still has 'Nam flashbacks."

You sigh, then turn around.  You pick up a sharpie and look at the paper on the wall.

On the paper under where it says "Number of Times Today Richard Has Requested I Make Tender Love To Him" are 8 vertical slashes.

You add a ninth slash.  Richard giggles into his white russian.

Later that night as Richard is bunny-hopping to the bathroom, he topples to the ground and lands on his colostomy bag, spewing its contents all over the carpet.  But your too occupied to notice, still staring at a phone that won't ring.