It stinks in here. Like, wtf have these guys been drinking? My head is sore, the music is already too loud, and it's all I can do to keep the energy drink I had before work started, in.
It's my fault. A pissing contest with Tiny, the biggest goddamn trucker on the circuit. I was sure I could take him down shot for shot, but the Jagermeister kicked my ass.
When I staggered into the bar, Digger, the owner, laughed and passed me the broom. Which is why yours truly is sweeping out a passage that smells like it hasn't had a whiff of fresh air in years.
I'm barely holding on to the contents of my stomach, and I've got a solid twelve hours of serving drinks to the biggest assholes on the planet coming up. I should've skipped, but I needed the cash. Times are tough when you're on your own and there's only so many flavours of Ramen before a guy loses his shit.
What the hell was I thinking? Oh right. I hadn't been. And now I'm paying the price. A whistle had me turning, Digger gesturing for me to man the bar. He didn't give a crap how I was feeling. We were short-staffed, having lost Garth the previous evening. The idiot had been caught on camera stealing from the till. So I'm on open-close shifts until we can get a decent replacement. Time to get stuck in.
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