No, this is not a reference to the J. Crew fiasco. Though I was singled out for my performance there as well.
Last night I learned upon arriving at my bar for work that my boss would be otherwise engaged for the evening and not joining us for his regular shift. I think I actually experienced liftoff on a cloud of giddiness hearkening to the days when I would have a substitute teacher in class. Normally, I would have a drink at the beginning of my shift (around 7 pm) then make sure that by the time he walked into the bar I would be sober enough to zip around the stools with a serving tray perched gingerly atop the palm of my hand. That first hour of his shift is always the worst, but after a few pints of diet coke and a high ball glass full of goldfish, I'm miss perky just doing my duty to get the gays drunk.
I did have my drink around 7 last night. That same drink oddly refilled itself until I was navigating the bar like an obstacle course. It was basically empty last night so the number of objects I could tumble over was minimal. I told the bartender that this reminded me of the days I worked at a little dump that we affectionately remember as Saints. I would work until 4 a.m. on Sunday night and have to stay open, even though for hours I wouldn't even see a soul. Those times I would hop over next door to Sip where my friend was working, and just hang having cocktails there. The bartender was like, "Wait, you just left the bar??" And I'm like, "totally."
I then realized, you really want someone like me working for you. I'm a team player. I'm a go getter. I'm loyal to the brand.
I'm a total fuck up.
I had two more drinks after my shift, and by the time CR showed up I was in the beginning stages of word slurring. When our bar closed, I noticed that even our bar-back had gotten drunk in our manager's absence. And instead of going home at that point, I was rallying to go to another bar to eradicate what's left of my cognitive abilities. By the time that bar kicked all of us out, I had difficulty maneuvering into the space presented by an open cab door. It's the price one pays, I suppose, after nine hours of steady consumption. The prize itself, however, was even greater this morning when I awoke, on my couch, fully clothed.
The truth is--I can do this right now. I can lose the ability to speak and walk. I can not worry about who will be smelling my breath when I get home or the next morning. While I'm unemployed and freelancing (so wait, is freelance the new code for alcoholic?), I'm able to abuse the substance of my choice. The question is, when this time comes to an end, will I be able to stop?
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