THE ADVENTURES OF REX THE WONDER ENGINEER:

REX Does Happy Hour

Rex, the Wonder Engineer, and Joe, Sac's finest Boom operator, are sitting in the lounge at the Holiday Inn, in the wonderful town of Panama City, Florida. As Holiday Inns go, it's a pretty shit-ass place, but they do have free grub at happy hour, which will begin in 4 minutes. Rex and Joe have been steadily pouring beer down their throats for the last two hours, smoking and spitting and telling stories about pilots, never mind that the beer is two fucking seventy five a pop, thats what per diem is for, by God, and besides, it's their job to set a good example for new pilots.

At precisely five o'clock, P.M., the four officers from the crew stride confidently through the door of the SandDollar Lounge, all wearing Docker trousers, those worthless, geeky topsider shoes, and remarkably similar sport shirts. Rex turns away from the door and says to Joe, "Good God man, there they are, I h ope they don't see us. Look the other way, dude, we could be fucked!" Joe grunts, farts, turns around and stares rudely, then looks back at Rex. "Just mello out, dick-brain, them dudes is gonna commence to scarfin on that grub. Hell, they wouldn't notice Heather Locklear over here with all that free food awaitin' for'em." Rex relaxes slightly, but without another word, he and old Joe sneak out of their chairs and head up to the bar, to blend in with all the other regular dudes, and to get a better view of the coming frenzy.

They are not kept waiting long, nor are they disapointed. Hoisting a glass of Red Dog, while Joe switches to whiskey, Rex watches with amusement as the four hungry Captains pile great gobs of bar food onto the flimsy paper plates, dripping Ranch dressing all over their pants, dropping chicken parts and cheese squares behind them as they head over to an empty table. One of the poor starving creatures is actually carrying two plates of Swedish meatballs with one arm, and Joe notices several sticks of celery sticking out of his Dockers.

Joe pokes Rex in the ribs, hard. "Hey, panel-boy, I'll bet them fuckers aint even gonna buy a drink. They probably brought bottled water with'em. Ha!" "No way", says Rex, "They'll come up and ask the bar keep whats cheapest, and then they'll split a pitcher. You watch". Rex thinks about the bottled water issue for a moment. Joe could be right. It always amazed him how a pilot could spend a buck fifty for a bottle of fucking tap water, when he could save the money for beer, or hell, buy the sweaties a beer. Those days are gone, though. Now the sweaties are buying drinks for the pilots because they feel sorry for them because they don't want to seen drinking with a dork who is nursing water.