Enforced Battery Recharge

I haven't been posting all that much due to time constraints forced upon me by my work schedule, which has been very hectic lately. For those of you who have left comments that have gone unanswered, I apologize... I haven't had more than a couple of minutes in a row to string together in a good while... and when I do, I want sleep.

In any case, I have been working, and work has been stressful.

I tended bar over the weekend, first for a sweet sixteen party (we absolutely hate these things, by the way... they suck). Nobody makes any money, and basically we spend the entire shift warding off increasingly more devious attempts by the underaged crowd to get their hot little hands on alcohol. We don't serve them, and if we see them drinking anything that even hints of being an alcoholic beverage, we take it away. Period. None of us is getting locked up because some gob-shite wants to get shitfaced at their school-chum's sweet sixteen party.

So, that was a lot of fun... two hundred 15-16-17 year olds ricochetting off the walls, and being generally obnoxious. The wait staff looked like they had been through hell by the end of the night, and the bar staff, which consisted of me, wasn't particularly thrilled either.

Last night I worked a wedding. There is an axiom among the more cynical of us relating to Sunday weddings. For some reason, they (they being not only the hosts, but the guests as well...) always seem to be low class smallheads. Let me be more specific: Low class, unbred, inbred, obnoxious, rude, arrogant, ignorant, mis-behaved, uneducated, ill-bred, toothless, over (or under) dressed, over (or under) sexed, nasty, demanding, ungracious, impolite motherfuckers. There. That about explains it. They basically suck. Not all, (I am generalizing here) but most. I don't know what it is, but it just seems to work out that way. I don't know if this is true everywhere, but it is certainly true here. If you are scheduled to work a Sunday wedding, it will invariably be a freak show. One of those things, apparently....

Well, I was scheduled to work a Sunday wedding... and it was a freak show. Not only did we get to enjoy a reprise of the 'underaged attempting to drink' act, which completely sucks big greasy moose balls, because the management gets exceedingly jittery, which often translates to them standing at the bar screaming at us, even though we haven't done anything wrong.

This is great fun.

On top of this, the assortment of guests was just this side of 'Night of the Living Dead' meets 'Deliverance'. It was hideous.

Partway through the night, I suddenly became extremely shaky and queasy. The room began to swim, and I just knew I was going to puke. (Puking at someone's wedding is bad enough when you are a guest... being a member of the staff and puking is something that I preferred not to do. I could already hear the stories being told in hushed whispers between other staff members as they flitted around in the kitchens... "Did you hear what Bear did?" - ah, no thanx!) I motioned to the Maitre'D, advised her to stand by the bar, and headed for the men's, where I did my very best to turn myself inside out for about 15 minutes. It was lovely. I was sweating profusely, mildy disoriented, and shaking when all was said and done. I washed up, and headed back to the bar. Not 20 minutes later, I was at it again, only worse... When I emerged the second time, they had moved my bar over to where the main bar was located (Presumably to have somebody always in control of the booze..). I made a third trip, and the owner came in and asked me if I wanted to go home. I told him that I was going to finish my shift, help with the clean up, and then, and only then, was I going home. I said that if I was found lying on the floor, I would be willing to go home at that time, but in absence of that, I was there for the duration. He said that If I wanted to go home, that was okay, and if I wanted to stay, that was okay too.

I started feeling a little bit better after that, and poured myself a ginger ale to sip. At one point, they began to play Boyz 2 Men's "I'll Make Love to You". At one of the tables sat a woman. A hideous sun-demon of a woman, my size at least, with lank short blonde hair, in her late forties or early fifties. Gravity had taken it's toll on her, and she had an enormous pair of breasts that had turned into flattened wine bags that hung limply... still copious, but not in the least bit attractive... at all. Not even a tiny bit.

Well, she had been asking vaguely probing questions all night long. Was I married? Where did I live? Did I work anyplace else? Did she know me from someplace? Did she look familiar to me? What did I do after work? Was I lonely? She was freaking me out from step one.

So now Boys 2 Men are crooning "I'll make love to you.. like you want me to", and she is pointing at me when they sing 'you' and making what I suspect were supposed to be suggestive and alluring faces at me... they came across as threatening and frightening, actually, and I wanted to run. The woman was obviously a barking lunatic, and somehow she had become focused upon me. Lucky me. Boyz got to some part about 'Anything that you ask, I will give you the love of your life' and to emphazize the word 'love' she cupped her breasts with both hands and gave them a heave... I think this was intended to close the deal and place me completely under her trance... but I don't think she counted on what that actually looked like from where I stood. Basically like two fifty pound bags of cottage cheese getting tossed in the air... it was repugnant and vile and I wanted to cry.

It was the perfect cap for a perfect night.

There and then I started cleaning up and packing my shit. There was still twenty minutes left to the party, but I didn't give a hairy rat's ass. I was out of there, and if anybody tried to stop me or slow me down, they were welcome to make the attempt to their peril.

Happily, 'love-juggs' left without any further attempted contact, which suited me just fine. She had already scarred both of my retinas and my mind. I won't be a bit surprised if I find that I have developed a whopping case of post traumatic stress disorder as a result.. I'm absolutely sure that she will be the subject of a whole series of recurring nightmares where I wake up in a cold sweat thrilled to be alive...

I came home and sat quietly with my wife, who, by the way has a magnificent and beautiful set of jubblies, so this was a balm to my poor damaged eyesockets... to just sit and enjoy the sight of her...

We went to bed, and throughout the night I was beset by wave after wave of nausea, which passed, finally, only to be followed by first fever, replete with soaking sweats... and then chills, in which I did my best at trying to shiver myself to death. By the time the alarm went off, I was wiped out. I called work and told them that I wouldn't be in, that I was taking a sick day. The reply? "You too?!" So. Apparently, there is something going around.

I spent the first part of the day sleeping, then I crawled out of bed, feeling like pond slime, and made some coffee, which I enjoyed immensely, and which put some heart back in me. I sat and watched the world through the window for a while, getting a kick out of the fat little squirrels as they gnawed away at the remains of our Halloween pumpkins that were left out there for them... Jays and other birds came and went, and the leaves fell... It was a very dreary overcast day... a perfect day for a sick day... I read and listened to music, and blessedly did nothing at all which is what I most needed, I think...

The cats must know that I'm not feeling well, because they both breeze by now and again to check on me, nuzzle my face, or curl up beside me for a spell before moving on to attend to whatever urgent cat business they have...

I'm feeling much better now... and plan on being back at work bright and early tommorrow morning... but today was priceless. I needed the rest, and I needed the space. Apparently, if I don't take the time to recharge my batteries from time to time, my body will find a way to do it for me.