emily is just one of a literal million of these kids

you know when you walk into a bar. and there is a person there that is definitely happier/more-jacked-up/more-mess-edup than the average kid. and they usually are the rowdy ones, demanding to know who each and every character who comes into the bar is…this is much more noticeable to the neighborhood bar goers than any nightclub going kind of person.

these people i term the neighborhood coke heads. and last night i met Emily, one of them. she walked in, demanded to know who i was all while role calling off every other bartender that worked there. Emily liked to plunk down fives for her drinks…demanding that i “take care of her”. and for five bucks a drink, one would think you would, right.

then she catches me at the corner of the bar, asks me if i like to get high…then answers for me…every once in a while right? yeah, i said. coke? she asked. oh no-no, I don’t do that shit. but i will smoke a joint every once in a while. uh huh, she says…

and suddenly Emily is Frank, this always-around-coke-head from jersey city, pretending to know everyone, trying to be your best friend, tipping the bartenders like mad because they let them sell their empty dreams in the bar and get all of my patrons messed up jacked up, not knowing which way was up.

these people make me sick. they wreak of used car salesman, and they are roaches that come into every bar when it opens eventually, as i had to tell the owner. they walk in and make your place the go to coke den. and with a name like coco+++, this is probably not the best idea. usually, if i were running the place, i would have said to this bitch, as she left saying, remember my face..deanna, remember it. oh, i’d remember your face, what is your name..Emily she says, making sure i know that she knows that i know she overtipped me. i don’t give a flying fuck i want to wring her neck. i don’t deal well with you drug running lying slimeballs. get out of my bar. i have thrown many of these kids out of my bars. called them out to new owners that had no idea, and tried not to deal with them.

see. it’s not the coke i have an issue with. you do it, it’s fine. but how do you idiots still buy into this idea that these people are your friends and even pretend for five minutes? they give you their shit, let you try it out, get you hooked, then drop you on the floor when you don’t have the money for it. they are just like used car salesmen, and they smell of worse conclusions and condensation.

ugh. i talked with the owner about it. he seemed naive, not too into actually acting on it…

and this chick. i hope she stays out of there while i am working. one day i will tell her…i know your kind. I’ve smelled your kind before…now get out you junkie.

work is like an endless saga of, and which location, and which service? the only thing that changes about every day is my clothing…

my boss calls me deang..like some weird faux model name he made up. he requests that i walk the catwalk, and i laugh. that is seriously the ceiling on my fun…

it’s wet out. i have to wash my sheets still. i still hate the dog but she’s been punished enough as it is.

oh strange. a bartender who doesn’t blow lines? i barely drink. i barely get messed up at all…this isn’t an anymore statement. i am pretty virginal when it comes to narcotics. i don’t like drug abuse. i don’t dig alcohol abuse.

extremes always scare me unless it leaves me upside down with my stomach at my ankles. almost literally. always wanted to bungee, always wanted to skydive, and roller coasters I remember as the thing I miss the most.

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