I scoured the floor for Larissa and caught up with her making burgers behind the line.
“Larissa!” I called into the window.
“Yeah?” she said, annoyed.
“I sent her home.” she interrupted.
“Why?” I demanded.
“She had to get out of here. Did you finish prepping the bar?”
“How am I supposed to prep a bar with no vodka?”
“Don’t worry about it…also, tomorrow…Sam needs off. She had a really rough shift today. I’m going to need you to pull a double.”
“Hey,” she laughed, shaking her head, “we’ve all done it.”
I looked around me – servers yelling in the window because their food came out wrong, managers texting in the corner, hungry and annoyed patrons waiting to ruin your day with a shitty tip…I couldn’t do it anymore. It was never going to get better. Shit was never going to be stocked. People were never going to change. The only thing that had a choice, the only thing that could make it all stop…was me.
“Larissa,” I said, turning back to her, “I fucking quit.”
I removed my apron, took off my buttons and threw them onto the floor in a fit of rage comparable with that of Dwayne the Rock Johnson when he catches up with Vin Diesel at the end of Fast Five. I was fucking done.
By this time, the entire line had gone silent. After all, I had pulled this exact same stunt numerous times and was always coerced in going back behind the bar and making the night’s drinks…but not tonight.
I spun on the ball of my foot and started to make my way towards the door…freedom was outside and I was going to taste it.
Larissa, however, had other plans…