Sunday, October 7, 2012

31 days of stories - day 7

Day 7:  The Story of Drinking with the Bartender
(actual patio)
When I moved to Virginia to be with Chris,
I was unhappy to discover that my newly minted masters degree in health education would get me no where down there.
You had to be an RN to be a health educator.
And I wasn't an RN.
So I hit the streets and looked for a job to make a little extra money,
while I found my "real job."
A honky tonk right down the street from our apartment was hiring waitresses.
I had never waitressed before, and to this day, I have no idea what made me walk in there,
but I did,
and my illustrious career as a waitress took off.
The restaurant, San Antonio Sams, was a local joint,
filled with tons of regulars, and not a single healthy thing on the menu.
At this job, which I had for nearly 4 years, cause I never did find a "real job" down there,
I learned a few important lessons.
1.  When you go to a restaurant that offers chips and salsa, the chips are touched by every single waitress in the joint.
And we do not have clean hands.
Trust me.
But I still eat them when I go to places that have them.
2.  Outside dining is the bane of every waitress in the world.
People loiter.
And you don't turn tables over quickly.
And therefore don't make as much money.
3.  Yell "CORNER" when you turn the corner with food,
or you WILL wear it.
4.  Restaurant people are crazy.
Their lives are dramatic and messy and dramatic and messy.
5.  You will make a boatload of money.
6.  Your feet will hurt all the time.
7.  And you will pack on 20+ pounds from the late night nachos the manager gets for the closers.    And the jalopeno poppers you eat after your shift.
And all the free regular soda you drink during your shift.
And the mexi-club wrap that you adore.
All of these are valuable lessons.
But the number 1 lesson I learned,
and it was a doozy,
is to never, under any circumstances,
I mean NEVER,
drink with a bartender.
Let me set the stage, shall I?
It was a Saturday night.
I  had worked the 4 pm shift, so I was the first one off, about 10 pm.
The main characters are:
Shannon was the bartender.  A rough sort of gal who cussed like the sailors that were always in the joint, and lied like a cheap rug.  Seriously.  The tales she would turn were outrageous.
Curtis was the nicest guy you ever hoped to meet.  He was a regular.  At the bar all the time.  However, he was as big as a moose, with wiry white hair that was in total disarray, and a crazy, mad-eye moody, eye.
Ok.  So anyhow...
Chris came up to eat,
as he usually did on Saturday night
and I had my "shift drink" while he ate his meal.
(shift drink, is waitress for the one free drink you get after a shift.)
Shannon offered me the shot of the day, which was a lemondrop.
I know, sissy stuff.
And for some reason, I thought is sounded like a fabulous idea.
Chris thought he would join me and do a shot of tequila.
The man loves his tequila.
He asked for the best, cause he had never had the best, cause we were poor, and he took his first ever shot of Patron.
Let me back up a moment and mention that Chris and I didn't drink in high school, like, ever.
And college wasn't much different.
I mean, we both got drunk on our 21st birthdays, and had a few humdinger nights, but neither of us were big drinkers in our younger days.
Ok, back to the story.
He fell in love with Patron.
And had another shot.
And another.
And another.
And so on and so forth.
Curtis was matching him shot for shot.
Shannon was taking about every other one.
And I stuck to my sissy lemon drops.
Somewhere in there, there was an order of wings and poppers purchased, but the majority of the night was all about the drinking.
Hours later, we were so drunk, we honest to goodness, couldn't see straight.
And our bill was,
are you ready for this?
For  the 4 of us.
Holy Shizzle.
Chris was way worse than me.
Way way way worse.
Thank goodness our apartment was only a block away.
To this day, I am not sure how I got us both home.
But I did.
And it is the only time I have ever seen him vomit from alcohol consumption.
And vomit.
And vomit.
I don't think we moved on Sunday.  At all.
I think all day was spent in bed, nursing massive, end of the world, hangovers.
It was one for the record books.
And we learned our lesson.
And we never, ever, EVER, drank with a bartender again.
The End.

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