Tuesday, August 25, 2009


Even though I've started a new campaign job, I'm still working a bit at the bar. Usually that's not a big deal because I work at the bar on the weekend and work on the campaign during the week. Sure, it means working pretty much every day, but a girl has got to make some money.

Yesterday the Boss called to ask if I could cover that night because Mr. B was sick, or out Thane or something. I explained that I had to do call time (4 hours of hell) and he asked if I could do it from the bar. I thought about it and agreed that it would work out. The bar tends to be pretty quiet until after 8, and on certain week nights, it can be quiet or even empty on any given night.

So, the bar was my office and I called and talked to people and left telephone messages and poured drinks and saved the world, simultaneously. Yep, I am amazing. One regular barfly had had a bad day and was drinking away his sorrows, only to mysteriously disappear without paying his tab and with a non functioning card holding his tab. This would probably be concerning in a city with a large population and any sense of anonymity, but in Juneau I know I will probably see him in the next week, assuming he didn't drown in a puddle. I also know that the owner of the bar is his lawyer, so money will change hands. I am just annoyed I didn't get a tip.

As a bartender there are a number of ways that you are taught to tell if a person has consumed enough/too much alcohol. Things with catchy names like tri-podding or simple things like slurring. As time goes on, you discover that there are many other signs that a person has imbibed too much. One of those signs is when a person goes from normal intelligent conversation about literature into talking about their criminal record and their inability to last longer than two minutes during sex. Now, I had never had any desire to have sex with this patron, but after that admission, the likelihood went from a whopping .oo1% to a definite ZERO PER CENT chance unless I've unknowingly consumed copious amounts of rohypnol. I'm pretty sure the criminal record was just drunk driving and assault, and not sexual assault, though. So I'm not worried.

Through out the night I managed to consume some alcohol myself, a couple shots of whiskey and a few beers. Enough that the Boss and I blasted some hip hop and sang along. Enough that I told him that I miss Mr. CP. Enough that I decided that going to bed while still wearing clothing was a great option. I think Mr. CP was a really good influence, judging by my lower alcohol tolerance.

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