Golden County: My time spent with Ryan Kordich pt.

1
By
Dr. Tyler M. Hernandez
Lets be good Americans, the best Americans. I told my
longhaired friend. Where do you want to eat, Dopey. He said.
Somewhere nice, somewhere dangerous. I preferred. Ok, well
go to my work.
Somewhere familiar doesnt sound too dangerous. Never,
usually, but I have to mention the setting. This is America in the
year 2015 specifically November 18, 2015 just five days
after the tragic terrorist attack on Paris. Isis has taken the
crown from Al-Qaeda as the face of popular and insecure group
of men who try and assert themselves into world politics. This is
a world of sex and radical Islamic insurgents dont get laid, or at
least masturbate enough to get the out the frustrations in man
and take it out on innocent concert going people that we love
and cherish. Just like the red scare and communism in the
previous years, everyone is keeping a watchful eye on each
other. Members do not have to have a beard or be brown to have
duties in the state; all they have to do is believe in the cause.
White suburban recluses can even take part making things in
every public space a roll of the dice.
Where do you work at? I asked. Youll see we are almost
there, wanna smoke a bowl? He asked. Being high in public is
dangerous and sounded good at this point. Sure. I accepted.
Wrong choice.
We parked and got nice and stoned and baked and a little
weird.
Eye drops.
Wallet.
Phone.
Ok. Lets go. I follow him from the parking lot of the strip mall
and pass a couple restaurants and boutiques.
Howd you get this job anyways? I pried. Long story.
Normally I would leave it because if a man does not want to
explain his business to another man than he shouldnt have toa.k.a. the fifth amendment- but Ive known Ryan Kordich since

childhood so at this time I was exercising the spritit of the law.

This girl that I dont know likes my pictures on Instagram so I
clicked on her profile and saw she posted this thing about if you
needed a job to hit her up, so I DMd her (direct messaged) and
told her I was interested it. She told me to show up here for an
interview and I got a job as a busser. Im grateful. Im very
thankful she blessed me. He said. WOW. I said really loudly. I
was amazed. Look at the times where we can find a source of
income on social networks. Its the future, its a way to make a
living. This conversation would have made as much sense as
Mandarin does to the average American about fifteen years ago.
So where the fuck is this place, dude? I said as we got to the
entrance. He opened the door for me and I looked up at the sign.
Mezza Mediterranean Grill. Fuck. Fuck. The paranoia hit
hard. Isis is making me a god damn racist!
The restaurant was pretty empty except for me, Ryan, his
coworkers, and two separate groups of wealthy looking, well
groomed, Arabian men enjoying each others tight knit company.
Where the hell have you brought me a god damn Isis meeting?
I said in a yelling whisper. It probably sounded rude to my
brother but the paranoia from the devils lettuce was too much. I
looked up and saw the ceiling fans twirling as fast as helicopter
blades but when I looked at my reflection in the mirror from
across the bar I saw my sweat riding a running horse down my
face. You said you wanted danger right? he said.
We sat at the bar like two good old boys. The place itself
was classy. Soothing music played at a low volume and the walls
looked like the inside of an adobe house.
Hey, Ryan! the waitress with glasses said.
Whats up?
Did you work today?
Nah, not today!
So, youre here on your day off?

Jesus Christ, with all the questions it was driving me nuts but
thankfully Ryan is a very polite and gracious guy.
Yes, this is my friend - Dopey!
Yeah, I can see that.. she said condescendingly. I did not even
grace her with a response.
What can I get for you two?
Can I just got a water? Ryan asked politely.
Ill take a coke.
She brought us our drinks and walked away for awhile. I
thought it was odd. He leaned over and whispered, She always
leaves to go take a poop.. Really, I chuckled making me forget
about the diabolic plots of destruction happening around me,
how do you know?
Because I just do! Shes nowhere to be found for twenty
minutes and when she comes back the entrance to the bathroom
smells like shit!
Im going to ask her about it when she comes back! I said
because being stoned makes me feel bratty. NOOOO, Dopey,
dont! I work with her! He pleaded. We started laughing
uncontrollably until she came back.
Soooo. I looked over to Ryan and smirked, how long
have you been working here?. Ugh, too long. She was stoned
too and boring with nothing good to say ever about anything.
Ok. I said uninterested. May we please get a menu? Ryan
asked. She got off her phone to get it for us. One of my biggest
pet peeves of this generation is the goddamn cell phone when
someone is speaking to you. Thank God for Ryan because I
wanted to flip out on her and make a scene but out of respect for
him I didnt. Ryan is a modern day monk preaching peace
through good vibes, an attitude of gratitude, and forgiveness. Ill
admit that some of the conversation I have with him can make
me feel guilty like telling your priest about the time you got
drunk. He is politically correct when he speaks about topics.

We finally get the menu. I looked at it nervously when I

saw the scribble scrabble of Arabic calligraphy written all over
the menu. Whats good here? I asked. Mmm chicken tawook is
pretty good. Thats what I like here- oh and hummus. Do you like
hummus? He curiously said. I dont know I have never really
had it but lets get it! I said. Ryan placed the order. What the
fuck is Mediterranean food? Like Greece? I know Jews like
hummus right? I asked. He said he didnt really know but that
it sounded about right.
I never really sit at the bar much, I said swinging my legs
because my feet couldnt touch the ground, I still feel like a
little kid sitting up here!
Me too! Ryan said.
I know for the occasion Ill tell you the three bar jokes I know
ok? I said.
ok
So a guy walks into a bar and asks the bartender, Do you have
any helicopter chips? and the bartender says, Nope sorry we
only have plane!
I could hear the crickets.
Ok so a black guy, a Jew, and a Mexican walk into a bar- what
does the bartender say?
What? he asks out of politeness.
Get the fuck out!
I was the only one laughing.
Last one I swear. A screwdriver walks into a bar and the
bartender says, Hey you know we have a drink named after
you!? and the screwdriver says, You have a drink named
Steve?.

He laughed at that one the most but still not that much. I
should have quit there but the waitress said, Those were not
very funny. Like I had no clue that they werent. Thats
because they werent supposed to be sweetheart. I said as a
matter of fact. Ok one more just to spite the cunt I thought.
Whats the average time it takes for a woman to cum? I
asked Ryan. No clue man. He said. Who cares if they do or
not? I said as I started laughing. Ok thats enough.
The food came out of the kitchen probably with a little bit
of the waitress DNA. The hummus is really citrusy here- try
it! he told me. I grabbed a slice of pita bread like I was Jesus
Christ and took a dip. Fuck thats good! I exclaimed! It was a
god damn delicacy! Salty, but not too salty and with a texture in
between crunchy and creamy peanut butter. I kind of felt like a
cultured human being instead of a boneheaded ape like with
other everyday life.
A few minutes later one of the parties got up and a wave of
paranoia hit me again. Fuck Isis. I watched the men leave the
restaurant and I say a white boy walk in around the same age as
my pal and I! He was chubby and couldnt grow a proper beard
which was shameful. He walked up to the bar and pat Ryan on
the back. Hey whats up! ryan said with such warmth.
Nothing much just picking up my pay check! Are you having a
beer? the white boy said. Nah but Ill have one if you do!
The white boy took a seat to the left of Ryan while I sat on
the right. Ill take an IPA! said the white boy. The waitress
that was stoned and had glasses on looked at Ryan. Ill have the
same! Ryan said. She looked at me. Ill take a coffee. I needed
to sober up and get rid of the paranoia. IPA is short for India
Pale Ale and are a stronger, very hoppy variant of IPAs that
typically have alcohol content above 7.5% by volume. Theyll
fuck you up if youre not careful.
This is my boy Dopey! Ryan introduced me to the shameful
beard.
Dopey? Whats your real name? he said.
That is my real name.

Well, Im going to call you Sylvester!

Now, I dont why he said that and it really threw me off. I
had no clue who this fucker was and if he was trying to be funny
or not but there is no way anyone is going to get away with it.
Im going to fuck you up if you ever call me that! I said sort of
in a joking way and it threw him off. What I thought of him was
probably the same thing he was thinking of me. What a good
show. Ryan stepped in.
Dont worry about Dopey hes just a little fucked up. He
said apologizing for me. I shot him a look, more like a Clint
Eastwood scowl, and he knew what I was thinking. Telepathy is
something that humans underestimate in a good friendship. Its
cool. He said and took a sip of his beer with his eyebrows
raised. I asked him the same thing I asked the waitress.
So do you like working here? I asked.
Not really its pretty boring.
What the fuck is wrong with these people.
Well why dont you quit?
He gave me a sarcastic answer as a fuck you but I wasnt really
listening.
Im serious.
Because I need money. He said.
Ah yes, the American Dream. Drinking at a bar bitching about
our jobs the recipe for a revolution. The American Revolution
started out in a bar dont you know? I said.
Maybe we can start the next one right now!
Now thats the god damn spirit! I said and all three of us
clanked our cups together and cheered. I looked at Ryan and felt

a sense of accomplishment. We were being the best Americans

we could be right now by standing up to terrorism (but not
really since in reality I only perceived the danger), sitting at a
bar, and speaking of revolution. The only un-American things
are not trying to collect money, not pursuing happiness, and not
committing an under the table felony once in awhile. We
finished our drinks, paid our bill, didnt leave a tip, and split. It
was a good day to be alive.