Dropped 1 hit at work. It was on a sweet tart. I rolled it around with my tongue and looked at my boss. It's Friday and he's going to go home and try to fuck his fat wife and convince his fat kids that he's something other than an obese bar manager. He tells me stories about his fat kids and his fat wife.
He's looking right at me while I'm playing with my LSD delivery system. I can feel it dissolving and I am wondering if he thinks It's time for us to have a talk. I feel down in my apron for the rest of the sweet tarts. I have a few more doubles and I intend on taking them all before I leave work at 10.
He calls my name.
Yea Boss? I say
Come here a second will ya?
I'm 10 feet away, but this motherfucker don't move much.
I shuffle over.
What's up? I smile into his beady eyes.
He puts a hand on my shoulder and takes a deep breath.
I look around the bar we're both standing behind.
There's no customers. He begins to laugh.
Hey man, you think you can hold things down while I go take care of some shit?
He uses words like that to make me think he's cool. Or whatever he thinks is cool, because I've heard him talk to other people and he never uses foul language except when he talks to me.
Sure. I say.
I've got it.
He thanks me awkwardly and snaps his cell phone out of his handy belt clip and immediately is embroiled in a heated and hushed conversation.
As he's leaving he says, "I'll be back in two hours".
Sure, I say.
Have fun! You stupid Fuck!
The instant the door closes behind him I take out my little baggie and toss a sweet tart into my mouth.
I stare at the details in the fake granite bar. I feel the sole of my left shoe wearing thin. My work pants are stiff because I never wash them.
What the fuck do I have this job for?
You need money.
No I don't. Money is fake and it's controlled by corrupt banking institutions.
But you need stuff that money can get you...
Oh really? Like what?
Oh I don't know...food, shelter, electricity, pornography.
You can get most of that stuff without money.
It's true! Almost everyday.
Not in Houston you can't...you gotta at least have a little money in Houston.
I look at the clock and it's 3:59.
I have to be here for Six hours of servile tedium for 5 bucks an hour plus tips. That's 30 dollars before tips and before taxes. I paid 60 bucks for these sweet tarts.
---------When bossman came back I was already getting the little fuzzy edges on things and I definately didn't want to work anymore, so I asked him could I call it a day early?
The fat man had obviously just had sex, now that I was close up and got a good look at him. Not a split second after I finished asking that question, one of the waitresses came in tottering on some heels and headed straight for the bathroom. She looked a little haggard.
I did the math and asked again...this time with more merriment in my voice?
I didn't want to start my trip with these two morons trying to hide the fact that they just had sex.
I didn't want to be here any more, and with any luck, and if this acid was any good, I'd be well on my way to something else.
He seemed lost in thought so I popped another tart while he was staring at the ground.
He'd been a manager at Slicks for a long time. He'd been an accountant after college, but after that whole enron thing, well...you had to take what you could get.
Shit was easier in this town back then.
Cheap gas...blah blah blah. Everyone had money. Then sploosh.
Its 2010 and no one has any Idea how the fuck we got where we are.
Not 1 person.
He's breathing heavy when he tells me I can leave at 8.
I pop another tart.
1 more to go.