Read A Second Bite at the Apple for Free Online

meaning. Really, the only response that resonates at all is, That sucks .
    On some level, I should trust Heidi knows what she’s talking about. She works at an education nonprofit, her third in the four and a half years since we graduated college. She knows all about budget cuts and empty coffers and organizational mismanagement. At one point, between her last job and her current one, she was working three different side jobs—restaurant hostess, dog walker, and farmers’ market cashier—just so that she could make the payments on her many student loans. Yet each time her company let her go, she managed to land on her feet, continuing to supplement her meager income with her weekend job at the farmers’ market. If she has made it work, then maybe I will too.
    Heidi takes another swig of beer and sets her glass on the counter. “Gotta run to the ladies’. You’ll be okay?”
    â€œI’m unemployed, not suicidal.”
    â€œYou’re a pain in the ass, is what you are,” she says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
    She scoots down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, and I redirect my gaze to the counter as I swirl my empty glass by the base. There is an inch or two of beer left in Heidi’s glass, and, not caring if it’s rude or wrong, I grab her glass and finish it.
    â€œLooks like you need a refill.”
    The man from the end of the bar is standing behind Heidi’s chair, his hands tucked into the pockets of his puffy black vest. His hair is the color of milk chocolate, wavy and thick with narrow sideburns, which frame his slender face. He looks vaguely familiar.
    â€œI guess I do,” I say, looking into the bottoms of my glass and Heidi’s.
    The man flags the bartender. “Hey, Eli, another for the lady and her friend,” he says. “Add it to my tab.”
    I dismiss him with a wave of my hand as I let out a small burp under my breath. “Thanks, but I’ve got this. I can manage four bucks.”
    â€œI’m sure you can. But I overheard you and your friend talking, and it sounds like you’ve had a rough day.”
    I raise an eyebrow. “You were eavesdropping?”
    His cheeks flush, and he rubs his narrow chin. “It was hard not to. Your voice—let’s just say it carries.”
    â€œOh, so now I’m a loud talker? Great. Thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.” The bartender places the filled glasses in front of me. I clear my throat. “I’VE GOT THIS,” I shout. “BUT THANKS FOR THE OFFER.”
    The man’s face turns even redder. “Suit yourself,” he says. “But don’t tell me chivalry is dead. I tried.”
    â€œBadly,” I mumble into my beer.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œBADLY,” I shout. “FUNNY, IF I’M SUCH A LOUD TALKER, THEN WHY CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING?”
    â€œSydney . . . ?” Heidi pokes her head out from behind the man in the vest. “Why are you shouting?”
    â€œGee, I don’t know. I guess I can’t help it. According to this a-hole, I’m a LOUD TALKER.”
    Heidi smiles nervously. “How many of those gin bottles did you drink before you got here?”
    â€œWhat do you care? I can do what I want. It’s a free country.”
    Apparently in my buzzed and self-pitying state, I have resorted to the rhetorical sophistication of a six-year-old.
    â€œMaybe another drink isn’t such a good idea,” Heidi says, eyeing the bartender and giving him a not-so-subtle sign to cut me off.
    â€œOh, yeah? And why’s that?”
    Heidi shifts her gaze from the bartender to me to the guy in the vest and back to me again. “Because I think we need to get something in your stomach.”
    â€œThey serve food here,” I say, now invoking the stubbornness of a three-year-old. At this rate, I’ll be on the floor in the fetal position by the