Futile Horn

07.06.2003 - 7:46 am (half conscious, half sober)

So I finished another weekend working the bar. Apparently the guy working the door suddenly decided he was going to take the holiday weekend off, so they made me do it. I'm about 5'8" and a buck fifty. People would ask me, "Are you the bouncer?" like someone had started making rottweilers out of jello. I gave one kid shit at some point because I figured it was my duty to give someone a hard time at some point. A guy came up to me with an out-of-state license, not expired, but fairly obviously belonging a cousin or something. He had green eyes while the license said he was supposed to have brown. I wouldn't let him in. His friends and not himself made the case that that was in fact him and he wore color changing contacts. Whoever was working the door last night let him in anyway. It kinda funny. I mean I don't a give a shit either way, but I felt if I was doing my job, someone needed a little grief.

There was a bit of a rush on the bar after the fireworks display in the town was over but it was a petty quiet night afterwards. About an hour or so before closing, there was three not entirely unattractive girls in the bar and perhaps two other guys. I think the bartender, who is married, was at least slightly let down that I didn't express more interest in them. At one point, shall we say the least unattractive of the group decides to get up on the bar and dance for us. The guy next to me at the bar starts putting Abes and Alexes in her bra and panties. Then she moves down and starts dancing for me. I first I just thought she was being polite, but then I supposed she thought it was my turn. I said something to the effect of, "What are do you think you are doing? I just work here." Was that rude? I don't think she was pleased in any case. Anyways, I started drinking about 4:30 am, had about 7 or 8 eight drinks, then drove home after not sleeping for nearly 24 hours. Weeeee. Stumbled in about 9:30. What kind of life is this?

Last night the water broke. In any case, we had no water pressure all night long. I was hauling bags of ice from the cellar. I also had to drive around bumfuck NY to buy about 13 2 liter bottles of soda. I learned something though. The bartender poured glasses of ginger ale, Sprite, and Coke, and made me do a taste to identify the Coke. I got all three of them wrong. They secretly all taste exactly the same.

It's a good thing I wasn't bouncing last night, because there was a bit of a scuffle between the management and few guys arm wrestling back in the restaurant. I don't like to get my blood pressure up. Not for hot titties in my face, not ape shit 6'3" drunks with a chip and something to prove.

When I left in the morning I wondered, which poor bastard's job is it to pick broken glass out of the urinal?

I've heard so many Irish voices over the last two night I believe I am actually starting to think with an accent.

I believe this job ultimately depresses me. But that's the game now, isn't it? staving off self-destruction until I'm finally destructed?

It's nearly 8 am. Time for me to go to bed.

Born to play the funky céilí,
Futile Horn