Day two of my 96 hour torture: it's lonely and boring and quiet and depressing. Okay, I may be exaggerating a little bit, but it's still pretty awful.
I feel like I'm going through Alex Ovechkin withdrawal.
To help myself out some, I pour a small glass with a little bit of sweet smelling alcohol.
God I shouldn't be doing this, I have to work later.
I'll just have one drink. Yeah, one drink will be good, I'll feel better after one drink.
Five drinks later and I'm feeling a little woozy. I have to be at the bar in an hour; maybe by some impossible odds I can sober up before I have to leave.
I think I've probably had 2 gallons of water, and peed like 8393927484 times, but I still feel unsteady.
Whelp, I guess I'm gonna stay drunk, so what's the harm in having another glass?
Damn this feels good. I feel like I could run a mile, but my wobbly feet tell me otherwise.
I don't really try when getting ready for work;
My hair is sloppily thrown in a pony tail, I attempt to do my makeup and I think it kinda makes me look like a street walker, but oh the fuck well.
Instead of even thinking about dressing nice, I put on some black skinny jeans and a black tee shirt.
I almost fall down the stairs when walking to my car, and it doesn't get much better when I start driving.
A 4-runner that's parked on the side of the street almost feels my drunkness too when I nearly slam into it, and I'm pretty sure I ran at least 2 red lights, but no ones stopping me, so I keep going until I finally get to the bar.
My feet wobble as I walk through the crowds of people on the way to the break room.
Why is it so crowded?
I almost fall again, and a woman is there to steady me,
"You okay hon? Need a ride home?"
I shake my head and keep walking.
Damn, it feels like it's taken me an hour to get to the break room and clock in.
Maybe I shouldn't have had that sixth drink.
Nope, I think I should've, because on the bar tv, is the Caps game, and I don't feel a thing.
Alex looks like he's having a pretty good game though.
Once I'm safely behind the bar, I'm able to start pouring drinks, with the help of the bar ledge to hold me up.
Every so often, when nobody is looking, I snatch a drink for myself too.
About thirty minutes into my shift, Lisa comes over,
"Why are the people at that table talking about how the bar tender is drunk as a skunk?"
I laugh, and nearly lose my balance while I'm at it, "hah, I don't know."
"You're really missing that guy huh?" She asks placing her hands on her hips.
I lower my eyebrows, "no, why'd you say that?"
"Well it's not like I've seen you and that hockey player on tv or anything, and he obviously ain't here right now,"
"Well what's it to you? I'm still getting my job done right?" I ask, balancing myself with both hands on the bar table.
"That's not what I'm worried about, I'm worried you're gonna do something stupid." Then Lisa leaves and a few minutes later Maloney comes up to me,
