A Cold One

Short Story Day 8 of 365

The day had gone on forever and Mike was anticipating opening the fridge, pulling an ice cold one from the shelf, popping the top, and plopping himself on the couch. No sports tonight, just a quiet evening with a good supper and a cold one. That first swallow would be so delicious, so relaxing. He was panting for it even as he pictured the scene in his mind.

He’d then ask his wife to rub his neck a bit. His neck was sore from the daily factory repetition. Mike had been doing this factory work for the past seven years but today the boss asked him to step up the pace and produce six more chips than usual. He did just that and more, but had used one too many muscles that hadn’t been used in some time.

As he pulled into the driveway, Mike turned the truck off, closed his eyes, and listened to the oil drip back into the oil pan. Tonight, he was bushed.

He pecked his wife on the cheek when he got through the door. The fish she was frying up smelled great. His favorite. The microwave was winding down from 7 minutes. He had no idea what was in the mike.

“How’s your day, Honey?” she asked.

“Long. Tiring,” Mike said. “Ray had me finish 6 more than normal. I gave him 8 more. A little extra pay next week, that’s what I’m talking about, but whew, this factory work is a younger man’s game.”

“That’s great, Hon. Thanks for doing that. You’re the best, you know that, don’t you?”

“Sure, sure.”

Mike let out a heavy sigh and opened the refrigerator door.

“Say, Babe, I could’ve sworn we had at least one cold one left.”

“Oh, sorry, Sweetie. I used it to, well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pick some up tomorrow when you’re at work.”

“Grrr. Oh well. Can’t be helped. I was hankering for that last cold one tonight. Sure could use it. Oh well,” he said again.

“If you want, I can run to the store before supper. There’s time.”

“Naaa. I’m good.”

Mike grunted as he closed the refrigerator door. “Welp, orange juice it is until you make another bottled water run.”