Where My Demons Hide

Saw Too Much *trigger warning*

***TRIGGER WARNING***

Once again the sounds of the crowded bar weren't enough to drown out the voices in my head.  This was getting really old, really quick.  If I couldn't be distracted from my own personal hell here nothing would work.  I rolled my eyes and stifled a sigh as I turned to new customers that walked up.  I squared my shoulders and put on my practiced smile.  

"What can I do for you tonight?" They would never know I hated every moment of speaking to them.

"Hey there gorgeous.  Let me get two of the cheapest beer you got," he paused as he eyed me up and down stopping at my name tag.  "Then, Meadow, when you're done doin' that, lemme get your number," he slurred and threw his hand up for a high five to his even drunker friend.

I put my hand in front of my mouth to try and conceal the real smile that was threatening to surface.  These two could not be serious.  They were more than likely drunk on mommy dearest's boxed wine and stumbled their way here while hitting on everything with legs.  If it weren't for the physical bar they were holding onto I'm pretty sure they would resemble lumpy rugs under the stools.  

"Ok boys, let's assume I'm the kind of stupid you're looking for," the condescension was pouring from my mouth now, unbidden.  "why don't you hand over your ID's, so I can see how old you are, assuming I'm too dumb to figure it out on my own."  

With the coordination of a baby giraffe, drunken boy wonder number one finagled his license from his wallet and shoved it into my hands.  After a quick scan, which was totally unnecessary since they can't be a day over puberty, I start to hand the ID back to him.

"Alright McLovin," no seriously, that's what he went with, "I will give you any drinks you want, on the house," pausing for dramatic effect desperately seeking some form of entertainment, "if you can tell me your birthday ... backwards."

The look on this kids face was almost worth the aggravation of having to deal with such bullshit, but after a moment it was almost painful to watch him try to figure out the answer.  Most customers, once they have had one too many, have to think briefly before giving me their answer.  It's not one of the standard questions that gets asked, but when your ass is on the line for potentially serving minors you become inventive with ways  to get them to slip up.

McLovin was full on struggling to remain on his feet so I stopped him before he could injure himself.  

"Let me stop you before you blow a fuse.  Here are your choices - call a cab and get your asses home, show me a designated driver that can safely get your delinquent asses home or sit here, sip on some water and wait for Boston's finest to arrive.  They may not bring you right home though," I warned.

They literally had to discuss their choices, as if anything other than the first one was a good option, but I already knew they would be calling a cab.  I raised my eyes to the far end of the bar waiting for the bouncer, Happy, to look my way.  It was a habit of his, even when he wasn't on bar duty, to scan the entire place for any possible issues.  Like clockwork, he briefly made eye contact with me.  When he did, I indicated the two light weights in front of me and nodded slightly.  It was our sign for 'get em out safe' and Happy nodded back indicating he picked up what I threw down.  

With dumb and dumber taken care of, I proceeded down the bar filling orders as I went.  Before long I was operating solely on autopilot, the smiles were automatic, the drinks practically poured themselves.  My whole goal when I started working at The Short Straw was to stay busy enough that my nightmares wouldn't become the backdrop for my day to day life.  Unfortunately, this job like everything else in my life, became second nature after a short time.  Pouring, smiling, wiping, chatting all happened as naturally as blinking and breathing.