Day 14: 24,040 Words

I wrote all of this today during a five hour visit to the passport office. We emerged victorious with a passport, and I made up almost all of my word count deficit from not writing yesterday! I'm hoping I can write the last 460 words tonight, but I wanted to post this now because laughing to myself about all of this was the only thing that got me through those hours.

They disembarked one at a time from the bus. Well, most of them did. James, Sylvester Stallone, and Richard Gere led the way, chatting amiably. Then Taylor Kitsch and David Boreanaz fought to exit next, leading both of them to fall out onto the gravel. It looked painful. The last two, Vin Diesel and the Rock, took the opposite approach. Both wanted to be the last ones to get off the bus. Isla watched as James sighed, climbed back up the stairs of the bus, exchanged some pleading words with the two men, and re-emerged after the pair of them. Vin Diesel was looking sullen, while the Rock looked like he might actually be coming around to the idea of spending an afternoon at a vineyard. James, however, was looking morose. When he went back onto the bus he had apparently found the mini-sticks that he had confiscated earlier that day. 

Isla took the opportunity to text Theo. James had okayed her bringing a plus one, and it was clear that they were going to need all the help they could get.

As they were waiting for their wine guide, Isla noticed a group wearing red t-shirts announcing their affiliation with the Department of Social and Political Thought at York University. They were glowering at one another during what appeared to be a trust fall exercise. The fact that this vineyard was hosting an event that alcohol was only sure to hinder was probably one of the reasons that the Jack Kerouac School of Experimental Disembodied Vineyardry had such a dangerous reputation. One white man, who looked to be trying to convince the group that he was a black lesbian, announced his intention to write a book about how rats should have been further persecuted for their role in the black plague. Isla was immediately disgusted by the proposed book after having read the ten year retrospective on the dissertation of (probably) Dr. Gordon Toodieloo, and was gratified to see that nobody caught him. 

They congregated as a group around a van that was serving as a walk-up bar, likely as an homage to Kerouac’s classic novel On the Road. They were greeted by a man in a cape, who was apparently going to be their guide for the afternoon.

“I’m Gordon,” he announced, and then was quiet for a few seconds. It seemed as if he had been awaiting applause. If he had announced that he was Gordon Toodieloo, Isla might have applauded. Isla decided not to ask; the day was not about her.

“Do all of the employees wear capes here?” Vin Diesel finally said.

“The owners did not take my suggestions for uniforms seriously,” Gordon said darkly. “I wear a cape to symbolize the rhizomatic nature of the human and non-human agencies involved in the winemaking process. These entangled agents stabilize over time to produce the effect of boundary, fixity, and surface we call wine!”

“I don’t think that message is coming across, bro!” Taylor Kitsch said helpfully (or at least he thought), from under his straw cowboy hat. He was wearing some light jeans and a red and blue plaid button-up t-shirt, with almost every button undone. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand!” Gordon replied impatiently. 

“Thanks,” Taylor replied, inexplicably.

“It wasn’t a compliment, pigeon!” David Boreanaz cried out, evidently referring to Kitsch as a hockey fourth liner. “Anyone paying any attention at all would notice that grapes are always already an ongoing historicity!”

“Fellas!” James sighed, pushing himself between the two men. “We talked about how important it is to respect each other’s opinions, even when we don’t agree!”

“All opinions on materiality are valid,” Sylvester Stallone said calmly, earning a smile from James.

The group stood around awkwardly, waiting for Gordon to continue. He eventually regrouped and grabbed the first bottle of wine. 

“Today we will be sampling three wine cocktails,” Gordon said mechanically, holding up a bottle of pale yellow liquid. “The first is the Gin Fizz-tival cocktail, with natural notes of gin, cucumber, and lime,” he said as he began pouring the drink into eight wine glasses. 

“What do you mean by ‘notes’ of gin?” The Rock asked as he swirled a wine glass that looked comically puny in his giant hands.

“I mean that it tastes… like a successful night,” Gordon responded with a perfect balance of defensiveness and whimsy. 

The Rock shot Gordon a confused look, and then took a sip of the wine.

“This doesn’t taste like gin or a successful night,” The Rock said, taking one more sip of the wine.

“Perhaps if you spent more time at a vineyard than in a gym, you might!” Gordon shot back, eying his intimidatingly large physique. 

“What kind of person says that you should spend more time drinking and less time working out?” The Rock said incredulously.

This was met with a round of jeers from the group in condemnation of Gordon. He looked around, realizing that his insults about spending time in the gym would not be well met by this particular group. Wanting the tasting to move quicker than it had been, he decided to just plow forward.

“Are you tasting the notes of cucumber and lime?” he asked the rest of the group.

“I think it’s delicious,” James said, with hopes of rallying the group. So far, the group had only been rallied against Gordon as a common enemy. Not ideal. 

James looked at Isla pleadingly.

“Yes! Mmm!” Isla replied, hoping to appease both James and to not anger The Rock. The cocktail did not taste like a successful night. It tasted more like a successful trip to the grocery store.

She was overwhelmingly relieved to see Theo walking up to the group that was small in number but large in muscles. She was also relieved to see that his white V-neck t-shirt, light grey shorts, and Wayfarer sunglasses made him nice to look at. Navigating this extremely awkward situation was going to be better with a handsome plus-one. 

The actors didn’t seem to notice him as he approached, and any questions they had as to who he was were answered when he put a hand on the small of her back and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Next we will be sipping on the Margarita-Péro cocktail,” Gordon announced, holding up a bottle with a darker yellow drink inside. This elicited more groans.

“Is that supposed to be a play on words?” Vin Diesel asked in an annoyed tone. 

“I thought it was obvious,” Gordon said in a tone that was equally annoyed and annoying. 

“Well, it isn’t!” Vin Diesel replied. The veins in his arms were bulging even more than usual. 

“It’s a playful blend of margaritas and an apéro, or apéritif. Perhaps you are not familiar with the tradition popular in France, of unwinding with a cocktail and a few snacks an hour or two before dinner?” Gordon was taking an arrogant tone that made Isla cringe. It was clearly not going over well with the group, either, who were shuffling their feet angrily. James looked beside himself. 

“We’re familiar,” the Rock said witheringly. Gordon did not appear to note the iciness of his tone.

“This wine cocktail,” Gordon continued, pouring the drink into the assembled glasses, “tastes like Friday at 17 hours, when you respond to the last email of the day. You can feel the weekend in your bones. Your colleagues propose an apéro, which goes down smooth. You don’t have any plans. They offer you a glass. It tastes like tequila, mango, and lime.”

“It tastes,” Gordon finished with a flourish, “like the weekend.”

Nobody appeared to have the energy to argue. They each wordlessly grabbed their glasses and took sips.

Isla, personally, had been coming around on the liquor-free cocktails. Her approach of stop wondering and start drinking was serving her well. 

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” Theo said, leaning towards Isla and whispering in her ear, “but I don’t think that the Jack Kerouac School of Experimental Disembodied Vineyardry is accredited.”

“You are almost certainly correct, Theo,” Isla said, trying not to be distracted by the heat of Theo’s body or the way that his closeness made her feel. 

Isla took a sip of the drink. As the wine drink burned its way down her throat and hit her stomach, she experienced a spreading warm glow throughout her body. Most of the group began to visibly relax along with her. Everyone, that is, except for The Rock.

“Again,” The Rock started angrily, “does this have notes of tequila, or tequila?”

Gordon, who had just started to relax after the group was appearing to calm down, startled. He did not look happy as he answered the question.

“Notes,” he said with dread.

“Notes,” The Rock replied. “Notes.”

“Yes, notes.”

“So you mean to tell me,” The Rock continued, picking up steam as he went, “that you have served all of us a margarita without tequila?”

“I never said it was a margarita,” Gordon said defensively. “I said it was a Margarita-Péro cocktail.”

It felt as if the entire group drew in a breath at the same time, and then held it in. The Rock appeared to have gone beyond loud anger, and was now at the even scarier level of quiet anger.

“You may not know this, but I founded a tequila brand called Teremana Tequila,” he said informatively. 

“I did know. I just don’t like it,” Gordon stated, apparently unintimidated by the overwhelming size difference between himself and the Rock.

The Rock paused for a second to collect himself, and continued.

“Teremana Tequila is crafted in a small Mexican town, amidst the highest peaks of the Jalisco Highland mountains. It is the result of years of refinement, made from one hundred percent pure blue highlands agave and is distilled in handmade copper pot stills. Our work is never done, but when the day is done, it’s only right that we gather with family and friends and raise our glasses. It goes down smooth on its own, or blended to perfection in a cocktail, such as a margarita.”

“Indeed,” Gordon said politely. This appeared to only anger The Rock more.

“It is a tequila that embodies passion, positivity, hard work, and fun,” he said cooly. “I do not see passion, positivity, hard work, fun, tequila, or margaritas anywhere at the Jack Kerouac School of Experimental Disembodied Vineyardry.”

Gordon tried to interrupt, but was stopped by The Rock holding his hand up.

“I’ve tasted the weekend, and this does not taste like the weekend. I invented the weekend,” The Rock concluded angrily. 

And with that, he turned around and walked back towards the bus, while the group wordlessly watched. James trailed helplessly after him.

With little else to do, the group looked around at one another with stunned expressions. No response felt quite right.

Finally, Taylor Kitsch broke the silence.

“You said we were going to be drinking three cocktails?” he asked, after having downed the rest of his drink and reaching over the counter of the van bar to pour himself another. 

This thankfully broke the tension in the group. Everyone finished their drinks and held out their empty glasses, waiting for Gordon to pour what they were calling a Dip a Moji-TOE in wine cocktail.