The Night Everything Broke, and I Have Perfect Timing

First thing when I walk in the door, Debbie pulls me aside.
Debbie: The fridge is on the fritz and I had to throw out a lot of food, so we have a limited menu.
She pulls out a copy of the menu and starts pointing.
Debbie: We have this, this, and this, but not that, and that, or that other thing.
Ah, gotta love complications.

One of my first tables is a middle aged woman with two girls who look about sixteen. They sit in one of the soft sections which seats exactly three people.
Me: Hi ladies, what can I get you?
Matriarch: We're expecting three more, so we're going to wait to order.
Obviously, they're in a cuddly mood because the only way to fit three more people there is for the newcomers to sit on the others' laps.

When the three newcomers arrive, the group moves to a table. Now, I know that in the grand scheme of things, this isn't really anything. But, it is one of my pet peeves when people can't do math of the "Let's see, there should be ten of us, and there's enough room for four people here, so..." variety. The newcomers are another middle aged woman and two more teen girls, though these look to be only fourteen-ish. The adults have chardonnay, the teens have virgin margaritas.
Me: Make sure you make those blended.
Dave: Oh, you should never blend virgins. Very messy.

Then, the flyboys invade. New group this time, but again with thirty at once. Their enthusiasm and volume are impressive.

A middle aged blonde woman joins an annoying couple at my table (high maintenance while also being lousy tippers).
Me: What can I get you?
Blonde: Him (points at one of the flyboys)
Me: ...
I stare at her more or less blankly because I've already lost the willpower to pretend I'm at all amused. The best I can manage is a slight upturn of my mouth that's not really a smile.
Her: Ha ha. It was a joke. I was kidding.
Me: ...
Her: (pout) Uh, a Bud Light.

Thanks to the invasion of many, many flyboys, none of whom carry cash, the ATM quickly runs out of moolah. Meanwhile, the jukebox is out of commission as well, which means we have to rely on the radio for background noise the whole night, which means I don't get to play any songs by the new bands I'm listening to these days.

The flyboys scare off the annoying table, which leaves me less than 10% overall, and I almost thank the flyboys for this, except I would have to yell over them to do so and I'm already starting to get a headache. I sigh and tell Laura that it's going to be a long night.

When the flyboys clear out we get a bit of a lull, which most of us use to eat something before the B Street mob hits.
Me: So, I counted. On the calendar. I have a maximum of sixteen more nights working here before I'm done.
Laura: No, not that many.
Me: Well, I mean, that's the most. I'm surely not going to be here all of them.
Laura: Really you've got half that. Mid-July.
Me: No, Mid-August, that's my quit date.
Laura: No, Mid-July. The owners are selling the bar.
Me: What? No way.
Laura: Yup.
Me: Wow.

Here's the rundown - the owners are in negotiations with the new owners, and while the paperwork is not yet signed, it seems like a definite thing. The new owners have their own ideas, which have been hinted at, but not fully detailed, about what the bar should be like. Their ideas are different from what it's currently like, so needless to say, the staff are anxious and a few have already mentioned leaving. A big part of why we work at the bar is because of its somewhat sophisticated atmosphere, and if the new owners change that we're all just left with dealing with drunks. Yeah, I'll pass. Then again, it's a moot point for me in some ways, because I'm leaving anyway. Yet, it's still sad to think of because I had plans for stopping in from time to time to say hi to everybody, but if everybody's abandoned ship, that's not going to work.

In summation, it seems my last day has moved up by a month. Regardless of what we think of the changes the new owners make, there will certainly be changes, and I fail to see the purpose of figuring out the new system just in time to quit, so that brings me down to a max. of eight nights. Unless the deal falls through, or the new owners change things slowly, that is. Dunno how it's going to play out, and it's hard not to be disappointed. All bitchery aside, I like the bar and I like the staff. I'm sad to think of it disappearing.

Alright, so back to the night itself:
B Street ends. We get flooded with the mob. I start going hoarse from all the times I have to yell "excuse me" at people who either ignore me, give me dirty looks ('cause my doing my job is interrupting their standing in the way, how rude!), or move half an inch to the side because they think I can fit through that much space. I get handsy and get in nudging/lightly shoving people out of the way mode.

During one of my passes, a random drunk dude yells out to me: Little smile? Little smile?
Me: No.
Which surprises the hell out of him.
Dude: No?! No?!
That's right moron. I refused your demand that I pretend to be happy while dealing with you and your mob of obnoxious friends. The purpose of my life is not to pretend I like you.

As an hour or two passes and the crowd trickles (or stumbles) out, I spot J. who walks over to me to fill me in on the fruits of my matchmaking the other night. Said fruits: coffee date. He's not quite sure if she's the girl for him, but he likes her as a friend at least and then he grilled me again about what she said about him. It was cute. Now I've gotta remember to call Jamie and get her side of the story.

My last table of the night consisted of two morons who were both annoying and bad tippers. Dude one says to Laura: Yo, yo, yo!
Laura: (forced civility) Can I help you?
Dude one: Am I bothering you? Do you not work here?

Dude two says to me: Hey, I've seen you on campus. You're a psych major, right?
Me: Nope, English major.
Dude two: blah, blah, school, blah, blah.
Me: That's amazing! We both go college. We should totally be best friends now!

Okay, so I didn't actually say that last bit. But, here we have another law of what I'll call bar physics: The more obnoxious the guy, the more convinced he is that hitting on the waitress is a good idea.

And tonight. Tonight, my friends, I have off. Words cannot fully express how overwhelmed by joy I am at this fact. I'm practically radiating rainbows right now. I kid you not.

Meanwhile, the mantra that keeps running through my head is, "Only one more B Street. Only. One. More."