• Posted on:April 22nd, 2008
• Comments:No Comment
• Category:My Every Day, My Life as a Bartender

I got a text message on my phone last night. B wanted me to give him a call at the restaurant.

“Hey, are you busy tomorrow night?”

I knew what he was going to ask. However, I let him squirm for a little while before spitting it out, because it’s fun.

“Do you think, um, you could come in and work and close tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Cool, thank you so much. It’s just that we’re going to this trade show tomorrow and well, I know [waitress] is a pain, but if I ask her to close, I think her head will explode.”

It’s not a big deal, and actually, with the way things are going lately, I need the extra hours, even if that means I’ll be working with one of the difficult waitresses. And by difficult, I mean old, cranky, OCD kind of difficult.

To add to the pain, there is also a very good chance I will walk out of there tonight with $10 IF I’M LUCKY. Ah, the glamorous life of a U.P. bartender.

***

I’ve gotten into a rather lazy habit of sleeping for an hour or two after Scott leaves for work in the morning. Those dogs are just too cuddly, dammit.

This morning I woke to the smell of dog poop filling my nose. Sadly, this is not an uncommon occurrence in a house with two puppies who have shit for brains.

However, this morning it was so rank that I half expected to roll over and have it staring me in the face. I peered over the edge of the bed in an attempt to locate it before setting foot on the floor.

A little backstory:

Last night, I went upstairs for two minutes to use the bathroom. When I came back downstairs, Newman was standing in the living room, looking guilty. A few hours later, I realized that he had jumped on the table and carefully unwrapped two Polish Sausages I had grilled and saved for Scott’s dinner.

So in other words, I knew the Shit Express was pulling into the station (or should I say “out of”), but I wasn’t sure when.

I searched the entire bedroom and all of his favorite dumping spots, including Scott’s closet. No steaming piles to be found.

Venturing out into the living room, the smell got stronger and led me to the front closet, currently doorless, the storage place for all of our off-season footwear.

It was then when I hit the Wall and almost passed out from the stench.

After grabbing a flashlight and investigating further, not only did the dog dump, but many times. It was like a turd graveyard. A veritable shittorium.

A smoke-filled bar will be a welcome smell after this. I’m suddenly looking forward to going to work.