Knurd's is the bar you turn up at when your plan A is too crowded and you really don't want to run into any of the successful people you went to high school with. We get smashed a couple times a year—holidays, finals, graduation, tax season—but tonight was ridiculous.
It takes my whole arm to sweep all the cups onto my tray. The clinking glass used to stress me out. I've come a long way. Customers contact used to irk me too. When I started tending, I could practically see the grime left where they touched me. I still feel it, but I learned to deal. If I keep moving, their hands don't have time to wander.
Knurd's wants even less to do with guest conduct than I do. Employee rights protection hits exactly zero on the priority list. If my bathing suit wouldn't cover it, neither would their assault policy. That's all they had to say to me when I applied, and all I asked was where they wanted me to sign.
It's easy money. I'm already under aged so they don't bother with labor laws. I work whenever I can for as long as I can and get paid in cash. No Taxes. No red tape. There's always work because people will spend their rent at the bar. Every time I want to slap some frat house trash I just think about the tips they like to leave the cute girls who make them laugh.
I can be cute. "Close up time," Marti calls out shaking her blonde tresses back into a ponytail. My backpack was across the bar before she finished.
"'Kay guys, I'm out," I call, hopping the counter. I don't get to cleanup. No one has any problem with me bussing the devil juice all night, but sometimes after hours emptier bottles start "disappearing". The other girls think explanations are easier if I'm just not around. I'm complaining. I still get paid closing rates.
"Damn, Flash," Marti snorts, "seriously, where's the fire?"
I'm not worried about a fire, it's the guys that put it out that have me.
"Tell me if this hurts."
"Of course it hurts, it all hurts. They're freaking burns Ari," Jase huffs. Boy's carrying on like he doesn't know I haven't touched him yet.
"I mean more than right now, Stupid." I roll his sleeve a little higher, then gingerly start dabbing salve around his elbow.
"That's some nasty crap right there," he grumbles.
"You got something better?" As if. Aloe, chamomile, vitamin E—it's all in here. I learned from the best. Mi Abuela is a boss in the herb garden. I know what's good.
"It looks like Dr. Oz puked on Chobani," he grumbles.
That's callous even for Jase. I mean, I spent lunch popping vitamin E caps into Tupperware for him. A thank you would be nice.
"Ah ah ah! That! It hurts!" he spits, gripping hard at his cot's sheets, "Geez woman..."
How sad is it that my boyfriend acts more like a younger brother than my younger cousin does? If Momo ever gave this much trouble while I was babysitting, he'd have been on his own. Jase would be too if these weren't second degree burns crawling up his forearm. I give him a minute before trying to take his wrist again, but he still pulls away. "Cut it out."
"Can you just let me have this one, Jase," I groan.
"Look," he wrenches back again, "Playing doctor on me now isn't going to change last night."
I slam the container closed.
"Ari," he tries to catch me getting up.
"Nah," I sneer, holding just out of reach. "No cream. I got it." Whatever. I had to trade snacks like a five-year-old to get half the ingredients, but it's cool. If he wants to scar up like grilled chicken, that's his business. Hope his next girlfriend likes barbeque. Something cracks under the jar as I pitch it back in my bag.
YOU ARE READING
Not Helping
Teen Fiction"School. Work. Home. That was all you had to do..." If Viviane Belodrome could keep her head in school, maybe everyone else would too instead of passing time trying to convince her of the Summit St. Savior. If Karin Orellana had gone straight to w...
