Last year, I graduated from NYU with a dual certification in elementary education and secondary history with a minor in History. I got certified to be a teacher in New York, but then all this happened, and I never got a chance to get a job. My preferred grade to teach is eighth. I think they are old enough to know how to behave, but not old enough to be fed up with school. If all this hadn’t happened, that’s where I’d be right now. Cozy at my parent’s house, preparing a lesson plan or something.
It is only the start of my shift, but I am ready to go home. My boss, Salvatore, is a sexist jerk who makes it a point to tell me every day that I am getting too chubby to work the bar. If I keep gaining weight, I will be relegated to the kitchen. I’ve been told that I have no common sense. Book smarts, sure, but that’s about it. I feel like I’ve always gotten by on my name alone. This shitty club was the only place that would hire me. I am not sure where else I will even be able to get a job if Sal sends me to the kitchen. If my mom were here now, she would tell me to sack up and kick Sal’s ass. No one talks to a Vitali like that, but then again, he does not know I am a legendary Vitali. So, there’s that, but still, he could be a little nicer. Some customers are even worse than Sal, which I did not think was possible.
“Hey gorgeous, can I get a pitcher of Guinness and two cosmopolitans?” a man asks after shoving two ladies to the side.
“Sure thing,” I say, ringing him up. “That’ll be thirty-three dollars even.” He hands me a credit card.
“Start a tab with that,” he says.
“No problem,” I tell him and begin to make drinks. He won’t stop staring at me, and I can feel the creepiness in my soul.
“How about I give my wife the slip, and you meet me in the men’s room on your break?” Ugh. Like I would ever lose my virginity in the men’s room of the world’s shittiest club. He’s talking loud enough to be heard over the music; people are staring. People staring is never a good thing. When people stare, I get recognized.
“Yeah. That’ll be a big no from me. Enjoy your evening,” I say, setting the drinks down on the bar in front of him and moving down the bar to the next customer.
“Bitch,” he says before walking away. Well, he is not wrong. I guess I can be a bitch, but it is not in my job description to fuck the scum of the Earth. I serve overpriced, watered down drinks, and crusty chicken wings, and that is it.
My next few customers are only here for drinks, thank God. They pay and take them away from the bar.
Only five more hours until closing time. I repeat it like a mantra in my head over and over until my fifteen-minute break begins. It gets me through the next two hours. I sneak out the propped-open fire door in the back of the kitchen and sit on the top of one of the two picnic tables the staff uses for breaks. It has been raining, so of course now my ass is wet, but I don’t care. The fresh air trumps all that. Inside the stuffy club, the different colognes, perfumes, food, and even the alcohol makes me sick to my stomach. Why do I do this to myself? Oh, yeah. I was being stalked by some asshole at home, so I disappeared.
After my break, which was not nearly long enough, I make my way back behind the bar. As I do so, my co-worker Eva turns around, walking right into me. Suddenly, I am covered in maraschino cherries and juice from head to toe.
“Oh, shit Brynn. I’m so sorry,” she says solemnly, but then her eyes roam my body and she bursts out laughing. I cannot help but laugh too. The cherry juice on my white shirt looks obscene in the bright, flashing lights of the club. My black skirt is covered as well, but at least it is not noticeable.
With still three hours of work to go and no spare shirt, I power through.
“Brynn!” Sal shouts from behind me, scaring the shit out of me.
“Yes?” I ask, turning to him.
“The VIP bar has some patrons. Go over and serve them,” he says, directing me to the smaller bar behind velvet ropes about a hundred and fifty feet from the main bar. “What the hell is all over you? You are a fucking slob, Brynn. Eva is too busy to go over there, so you’ll have to do it. Try to stay hidden behind the bar,” he says before stomping off.