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His bloodshot, glassy eyes wobble as he stares me down. He holds his ground; well, rocks a little. “Asshole touched my wife.”
I step into him but don’t make contact. Yet. “I said, back the fuck up.”
The man peers over my shoulder with narrowed eyes. Jaw muscles taut. Shoulders to his ears. He jabs his finger in the direction of the other man. “I ever see your face again, you best run.” He meets my gaze, takes a step back and nods. “I mean no disrespect. But no one touches my woman without permission or repercussions.”
I lift both my hands to either side of my face. “I get it, man. But take the fight outside. Can’t be having that shit in here.” I peer over my shoulder at Ted and lift my chin. He escorts the other man to the door and I turn back to face the couple. “You’re welcome to stay. But no fights.”
He extends a hand and we shake before I walk to the door to resolve issue two. Thankfully, this resolves much faster. Fake or forged IDs get spotted easily with all the UV lighting. The hardest part is convincing the person we know it is tampered with. The old days of laminated or non-hologram licenses are long gone. Fakes are easier to spot and confiscate.
“Your fakes may work at other bars and clubs, but not this one. Have a good night.” I take the ID, grab the scissors we keep at the podium near the door, and cut the ID into jagged pieces. Then walk off as the punk curses me out.
Back in the office, I collapse in the chair behind the desk and run my fingers through my hair. I love my job, but sometimes it sucks.
I love the fast pace and upbeat energy that bleeds from the walls and floats in the air. The thump of the bass and pitch of the treble. The bright lights and dark corners. The smiles and bright eyes and exhilaration. I love it all. Hell, I even love the desk work. Filling orders and spreadsheets. Writing schedules and implementing procedures. Inventory is a beast, but I do it with a smile on my face.
But every once in a while, my job comes with a pile of bullshit.
The occasional bar fight over women or spilled drinks. Fake IDs and dealing with underage people trying to enter. Idiots harassing the staff or touching them inappropriately. Dealing with people who can’t settle their tab.
Each instance is never pretty, but most resolve without bloodshed or police.
I focus back on the computer and the last of the invoices. Almost done. Just finish the last of the desk work and wrap the night up behind the bar. Get the brunt of the work done, then round out the work night with Peyton nearby.
With a deep breath, I pick up where I left off. Line by line, I input the last of the invoices and save the spreadsheet to the cloud. Once everything is filed away and I straighten up the desk, I roll back the chair and exit the office.
Smile on my face, an extra bounce in my step, I walk down the hall and out to the bar. Peyton glows like the sun. Her bright smile hasn’t quite returned, but I hope to make it shine again later.
Peyton agreed to meet me at Teddy’s. And tonight, I will man up and apologize for every time I hurt her in our formative years. I pray she accepts and allows me to make it up to her. However she deems worthy.
Peyton saying yes gives me hope. I hold on to that hope with every ounce of strength I own. Because hope is all I have right now.
