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A Dash of White and a Hint of Green

Posted in Personal by steelstringed on January 9, 2010

4:30 p.m. I sweep open the drapes to an icy driveway. A small flurry of snowflakes is falling to the ground, causing me to emit my own small flurry of expletives. I have to shower, dress, make a bank deposit, run by the post office, refuel my car and eat dinner before my 5:30 shift begins at the restaurant, and all of the sudden winter decides to show up in the south. I reluctantly throw my legs off the side of my bed and my body acts like it has never had the experience of walking, which makes the stumble across a messy room an even more perilous task than it would normally be. After a speedy shower, I don my jacket and scarf and head for the door.

The back deck is painted white with freshly fallen flakes, but a second coat would definitely strengthen the analogy, as footprints down the steps clearly reveal the dark brown of moisture-saturated wood underneath. I open my car door and use my windshield wipers to clear the thin dusting of snow obstructing my vision. “At least,” I think, “it isn’t cold enough to freeze the snow on my windshield. Perhaps I won’t end up in a ditch going downhill on Westcrest after all.” At this point, my roommates (who have been smoking outside) issue me a sympathetic farewell; I must go to work while they chill and write music.

I really wish I could hang out in the studio with my mates. The last thing I want to do is drive to work only to serve a single table like the night before, when the winter weather advisory kept people in their homes, effectively cancelling the one large reservation we managed to have on the books for a Thursday evening. I take the car keys out of my pocket, place them into the ignition and turn them forward. *chgk-chgk-chgk-chgk-chgk-chgk-f-f-FFWOOMMM!* After a slightly unnerving struggle, my car lights up with life and with 107.5 FM. It’s cold enough in the vehicle to see my breath. “Fuck.” The curse is delivered dejectedly and at a low volume, barely audible amidst the boom of Top 40 radio. It’s Taylor Swift. Double-fuck.

Right then, my cell phone rings and it’s an unrecognized number. If experience tells me anything, I bet it’s one of my co-workers. If so, I have either misread the schedule and am therefore late for my shift, or someone wants to request a day off at my expense. For some reason, I answer it.

Me: “Hello?”
Stranger: “Hey Kevin, it’s Chris from work.”

Bloody hell.

Chris: “You’re working tonight, right? Closing?”

Yes, unfortunately. For the second night in a row.

Me: “Yeah, I’m a closer. Why?”

Chris’s response nearly gives me an aneurysm.

Chris: “Do you really want that shift tonight? You really needing to work?”

Holy shit. Could he seriously want to pick up a Friday night closing shift with very low money-making potential?

Me: “No, I don’t especially want it. I was actually thinking about calling in, but I had to bite the bullet last night so I figured I’d just do it again. You want to work?”

Please tell me you want to work.

Chris: “Yeah, I was supposed to work over at [omitted] tonight but they aren’t gonna be busy so I thought I’d try to pick up at [omitted #2].”

[Omitted #2] is my place of employment, and my co-worker that never works with us on Friday nights has just called me at the last minute, asking to relieve me of a duty he should in no way wish to acquire.

Me: “Dude, it’s all yours. Go make some money.”
Sucker: “Hey thanks, man. Talk to you later.”

Bye Chris.

And then I got high.

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One Response

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  1. smileyeyes said, on January 9, 2010 at 12:28 pm

    Taylor Swift hates you too

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