The Violinist

Work Time

I walk quickly to the night club and think of the events leading to the application years ago. I have worked at the nightclub since freshman year. I was too young but I convinced the owner and played for her daughter on her birthday. I made some money that day and stayed in good terms with her. As I arrive, I greet the bouncer Grimm, and walk in. The club's name is Vixen, and in terms of establishments this one was not too bad. With a dark atmosphere only illuminated by dark lights and a fully stocked bar to have every drink you could think. Most nights I bartend, under the table of course. I am still in high school and barely in my junior year, so I can not exactly be seen near alcohol. Thankfully, good genetics and the dark lighting of the club make me look twenty plus. This has led me to plenty of situations where I get more then a money in the tip jar and more than plenty of offers to stay the night with a girl. The pace of the club usually save me and I get free with little trouble. Upon putting on my apron, the owner Luna tells me that I am bartending, on top of cleaning during and after work. I rush to the bar and start mixing drinks. The task itself is easy with practice and with skill and time you learn to have fun and be flashy. I toss shakers, drop shots and light drinks on fire with exclamations from the crowd. I smile but the feeling is nothing compared to the violin. This is fun but not soul-pulling or heart-wrenching. It is only 4 but people are still going hard and hours pass. Time  quickly passes to 12 o'clock and, slowly but surely, people file out of the club. I only begin to feel exhaustion when I remember I still have to clean. Hopefully, I will be paid extra for working an extra shift. With this in mind, I pick up the cups and plates, sweep and mop, and put the dishes into the dishwashing machine. As that runs, I open the doors and blast the fans to clear the smell of sweat and sex from the club and sit and relax. Luna drops by and hands me a bottle of Dr. Pepper and drink it slowly. She talks about her daughter and thanks me for helping and I tell her it is nothing. I pick up my drink and walk back home and as I walk into the house, I think about what is left. Nothing coming to mind, I go to my room, close the door and fall on to my bed, going to sleep almost immediately.