The next morning, I awoke to my Blackberry (haha, who has those anymore?) vibrating against my cheek.
“Girl you’re not calling out are you?” Stephen said frantically.
“Mmm,” I mumbled, “what time is it?”
“Girl! It’s time for work! I’m about to pick your ass up and you besat be ready.”
I summoned the strength to peel myself from my bedroom floor, looked in the mirror and immediately looked away. I looked…haggard.
It was at that point I decided to call Stephen back and tell him not to bother…there was no way I was coming in. As I was about to dial, I saw my schedule on my desk – SATURDAY, L. SHARKEY – FOOD RUNNER, DBL. Two words came out of my mouth – MOTHER. FUCKER.
It all made sense now…that was why Stephen was coming to pick my Alcoholic Asian Ass up…he needed his shit ran today. Him and the twenty other servers on the floor tonight. And for the briefest of moments, I thought about it – I could call out, you know. I haven’t called out in a while. I’m sure someone can cover…they’ll totally call someone. Everyone needs money.
I then thought of how the others would know my secret – whatever excuse I gave, people would inadvertently rat me out. Tommy would be pissed that I had called out and Sandra would say, “Listen, she’s having a rough time. Dave stood her up last night.”. He’d feel minor sympathy, but then put me in D4 for the rest of the week and I wouldn’t make a dime. Not to mention that those who didn’t know about Dave and I would now know he majorly dissed me…and then my thoughts went to Dave…
Dave…what a sack of shit he was. I wasn’t about to give that fucker the satisfaction of knowing he had put me into a tequila coma.
And so, I showered, brushed my teeth, suited up, grabbed my apron and got into Stephen’s car.