The shift was long, I was alone all night behind the bar. The people come and go in waves. The 5pm “Happy Hour Hillbillies”, trying to save cash. Then the dinner rush, filled with families and screaming kids. Watch your language, the kids might hear you. Or more importantly their super sensitive asshole parents that love to write about your foul mouth on Yelp. Then a break in the night as you regain your composer and bunker down to prepare for the “Last Call Walking Dead”.
Alone behind the bar means no breaks and constant movement. Covered in sweat and triple sec, fingers rotting from an over exposure to lime juice, beer yeast, and all the other things that make those drinks taste oh-so-good.
A full 9 hours on your feet clad in your bartender clown suit.
The good news is… it’s over. Last call has happened, tips are counted, money is dropped and you’re heading home with your winnings.
Finally home, after your much earned shower, you snuggle into bed as the morning sun is rising. Late night working means that your schedule conflicts the whole worlds. When they wake you sleep, and sleep you will after that shift.
Then suddenly your back! Right back! At work, the bar looks a little different, but familiar faces are all around you. It’s business as usual, a couple regulars stop in, you make drinks, you flirt with the waitresses. The shift goes on and on, when out of nowhere a glass breaks and this bar begins to feel less like reality and more like a sort of hell. The servers faces begin to blur, the regulars start yelling at you and throwing bar nuts in your face. What once was a full bar, now is a packed bar, faceless drunks are bouncing off the walls. The owners come in dressed like police officers with guns drawn. You look down and the fingers that used to be sore from bar-rot are now bleeding stumps of rotting flesh. The kitchen has set fire as flaming mexican scurry the floor like headless chickens.
No you never went back to the job, the job stayed with you. Even though your body was ready for sleep, your mind was still there.
You sell the hours that you’re awake for tips but your dreams they get for free.