Confessions of a cocktail waitress

Dec 01, 2004 11:55

Part one.

December first, and the ground is dried up and littered with organic corpse bits that tumble across the cold pavement- yet the snow is holding off.
Four nights of a stunning full moon and fairly warm Decemeber weather seems to bring out all sorts of oddities.

The past two nights have been full of strangers acting even stranger then you'd expect.
OK- perhaps you do expect the 60ish looking man with the missing teeth and pockets full of change to be odd-
but what about the decent looking typical young guy sprouting theology and staring at you hard enough to bring on a flashback you'd rather forget.
He says; Im drunk- ive been kicked out of every bar in the area- you can tell me to go anytime.
You look at him and know he isnt drunk and mumble " alright...whatever you say..dont bother anyone" wondering why the hell anyone sober would say that.
You knock it off as bad humour and get him a drink.
Not even five minutes later he tells you that hes a student at york studying cognitive science, specializing in childrens studies- then rants on about king solomon having nothing on me for the next while.
Youre midly amused, though uneasy- decide youre bored enough to let it go on for a bit.

The cokehead crowd comes in- the waitress serves them before you can tell her not to- and you wonder- what it is that pushes pple so far into self degredation.
One of them- the only girl- shes not wearing a bra, her tiny flatened breasts make you sad for some reason.

He's slowly getting louder and more extravagant with his gestures at the end of the bar- the other customers are moving away- you ask " is he bothering you?" and they ashamedly say no quickly, attempting indifferance.
You go over to quiet him down, but he tells you that he's the devil- no really, HE is lucifer incarnate-
but he still thinks your really cute, and could he please have a beer?
You tell him not before he eats something, pushing a plastic covered menu at him and walking away.
He orders bruschetta- a regular you dont particularly like cracks a joke about him being coked up and you realize that yeah- oh yeah- is he ever.
Either that or mentally ill and A.D.D.- either way you still feel an odd mixture of amusement and annoyance.
He wants another pint- you tell him no- not before he eats everything on that plate.
You wonder, when did I start mothering coked up overall-wearing men shouting theology who look like jim carrey?
You remember Jim Carrey scares you, and cowardly kick him out after he's finished eating.
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