#pyroclast2

During dinner that breezy fall evening, I happened to be the only one not drinking.  I'm not sure if that's important, but it feels like it should be.  I sipped at my craft ginger ale, not just because real ginger is one of the greatest joys of life, but because when people I hardly know spend a lot of money on me, it makes me very uncomfortable.  Thus the lack of booze. But meeting the SO's folks always ended the same: free food whether you liked it or not.  And if they really wanted to go to the most expensive place in town, fine whatever, that wouldn't stop me from having me a real ginger ale. "So do you two come here often, then?" his mom asked. He made that awkward laugh that he only uses when he's trying really hard not to sound awkward.  Kind of an obvious tell.  "Maybe if I had a million bucks!" "I do have a million bucks."  Stepdad finished off his second beer, and the appetizers hadn't even arrived.  "I tell you, it's a nice feeling." Gloat did not begin to describe that petty grin.  Suddenly I didn't feel so bad about the free meal. "And you're never going to make a million bucks working at that--where do you work again?"  The man tilted his head up so he could look down at his stepson. "I work for an optometrist, Bill," he murmured over the lip of his bottle.  "It's not exactly my long-term--" "Do we need another round here?" The tall waitress, though all smile, hid a hint of surprise to her voice. Bill spoke up first, "Good timing, Sweet Cheeks.  I'll have another one of these, she wants wine, and get these two wimps stouts," he pointed to his two stepsons.  "Put some hair on those chests." You've clearly never seen my boyfriend's chest.  It's the Congo. "And..." the moment he looked at me, I quickly spoke up. "Still nursing this ginger ale, thank you.  Fantastic flavor." K, thanks, bye. Mom-to-be-Impressed took that opportunity to segue, and got so far as a breath and eye contact with me before-- "See this is what you have to look forward to!" Bill used his bottle to point the accusation at the younger of his stepsons.  He then motioned significantly at my boyfriend.  "Majoring in computer science is no better than majoring in music!  Computer hacks are a dime a dozen!  No one will want to hire you!" As the two boys examined their navels, I found my eyebrows raising.  I caught myself looking the fat bull head-on. "And what do you do?" SO's Momma quickly interjected. I tilted my head, but met her gaze before my delay became rude, and replied, "I'm a medical coder, at the moment completing a credentialing externship." The sound of Bill's slap to the innocent table jarred me nearly from my seat.  "See?  This is exactly what I'm talking about!  Your job is nothing but a drain on the economy!" Instinct gathered my shoulders square with his.  My level gaze became a fortress to his virulent grin. He didn't notice.  "You ought to be ashamed with this whole 'Obama Care' bullshit!" Through every word, my head tilted slightly lower, the daggers from my eyes shooting through the rims of my glasses. "You kids have no idea what real work is and you want to just drift through life never making something of yourselves!" I could feel a burning heat lifting from me, so it only follows that hellfire must have begun blazing at my back.  My boyfriend and his brother both quietly leaned away from me.  My tells aren't so much obvious as they are a visceral body language which triggers an imbedded instinct for survival in all those around me. And then my laugh melted over them, icy and sharp with no humor in it at all.  It stopped the bull in his tracks.  "I'm sorry!  Wow!  It's just funny how you think you can come to my town, waltz into my home, and insult my country, president, and career!  And then think that dinner and a couple of rounds earns you a sheepish 'Yessir' from me?!" Three jaws dropped.  But The Bull seethed red. "Without credentialing, there wouldn't be modern medicine!  We can argue about whether or not people 'deserve' heath care until your red. Hick. Face turns blue.  But the fact of the matter is, your country and your president decided that this is a thing we're going to do, just like--I dunno--every other developed nation of the goddamn world!  And that means someone has to credential these doctors with it all!  Then we're going to need medical coders to help manage chronic illnesses so that we know who needs that money and how much.  You know, so that--just maybe--we can keep people from dying!" As steam snorted from the Bull's nostrils, taunted by the red flame of my indignation, the waitress quickly distributed beer  out amongst the table.  "I--ha! Ha! Ha... have your next round!  Your food is just behind me!!" But I had thrown down the gauntlet.  A war verged on breaking. So I twisted the Bull's horns against him. "Oh, Karen?" Yes, I remembered the waitress' damn name.  "I'm ready for another drink now.  Could you make me a Moscow mule with one of these craft ginger ale's?"  I showed her my empty bottle for reference. "Yeah we can definitely manage that..." she looked from me to the man of the table, "but it'll be the price of both drinks." I looked that Bull right in the eye to watch the killing blow.  "That's fine.  Just put my meal and drinks on a separate ticket." Gloat did not begin to describe my petty grin as I watched his rage drain into pallor when he realized that even his millions held nothing over me.