Benjamins
I don’t know what it was, but on Saturday night I received more hundred dollar bills than I ever have in a shift. Usually the dominant denomination is the twenty, of course, but it seemed like ATMs were spitting out hundreds by the way they were coming my way. It turned out to be a great night. It didn’t seem that way at first. First of all, it was super hot. I was sweating like a pedophile on a playground. The night started out super slow, but I guess it picked up. When it’s hot and slow, time refuses to move forward. Some bartenders refuse to look at the time on the register, while others keep checking it. I fall somewhere in the middle. Bartending is a lot like Vegas, there’s really no good marker for the passage of time. You look at the time and it’s 12:30. You bang out dozens of drinks and you think your shift is almost done, so you look at the clock and it reads 12:32. At that point my heart sinks to the Jaeger drenched floor. But, eventually, you get to ring that bell. It can be the most cathartic moment in the world. I once swung so hard that I broke off the clapper. I was afraid that last call would never come. I love my job but I figure purgatory is where my shift never ends. It’s just hoardes of douche bags clamoring for jaeger bombs. I guess there are worse versions of hell.
