I’m running. I wake up late and realize I only have a half hour before I am supposed to be at The Ninth Circle. Somehow, I slept through the alarm; it had been going off for over an hour before it woke me. Flying out of bed, I almost bang my head on the ceiling of the loft. On my way to the bathroom I slip and almost fall in another puddle of cat urine. If this is the way the night is going to go, I might as well just turn around and climb back into bed. This poor Siamese cat that my “out of town roommate” has left me is inches away from meeting its maker. Seriously, not that I would really take it to its maker, but it’s about 100 years old in cat life. I haven’t really been home long enough to know if it’s suffering though. I am aware that it can’t seem to make it to the litter box in time and has been peeing and pooping everywhere. It does howl constantly but then, on the other hand, it’s a Siamese cat. Apparently, that’s their thing. I will continue to monitor how it’s doing and will do what needs to be done when the time comes. So now, after cleaning up the cat urine, cleaning up the cat with paper towels, and jumping into the shower, I have twenty minutes to get to work. I snatch a banana off the top of the fridge, head out the door, grab acab, and we zip across town in an effort to get me there on time.
Entering The Ninth Circle, I see Brian at the top of the stairs. “Hey, asshole,” he yells out when he sees me. “You thought you were pretty funny pulling that stunt the other night.” I walk by him as if I don’t hear a thing he is saying. “Good luck trying it again tonight,” he says grabbing my arm. “I will definitely get you,” he adds leaning in close, inches from my face. I pretend that I don’t hear him and head to the back of the bar.
Don is sitting there waiting to take over. I thank God that Don is working and Jerry is leaving early. Jerry is extra twitchy and wound up. I watch him and notice that he can’t stop moving. “You,” Jerry says and points to me, then motions his finger to tell me to “run”. I walk over. “If that buzzer rings tonight,” Jerry says, spraying spittle into the air, “You go upstairs immediately and take care of him.” His eyes glance at the ceiling. I know he means the guy upstairs but secretly, I was hoping that the guy upstairs died before I arrived at work, but apparently, no such luck.
I’m also hoping that Bob will stop in. An hour later the bar is in full swing and I am running my butt off. Looking at the bar, I realize that there’s the usual cast of characters, all sitting where I left them the last time I worked. I am beginning to believe that they are at the bar every night. The only ones I haven’t seen yet are Dennis and Scott.
Two hours into the shift John walks in. He scans the room, sees me and waves. I return his wave and push my way through the crowd to get to him. When I’m a foot away, I can see that he has been crying again. “Are you okay?” I ask. He sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “I am here because someone told me that my boyfriend is dating someone here as well.” “Jesus, that sucks for you,” I tell him. “I couldn’t imagine having my boyfriend running around town. I’m so sorry.” I take his elbow and walk him through the bar. A seat opens in front of Don and I push John onto the stool. “Don, buy John a drink on me,” I say. Don sees John’s bloodshot eyes, looks at me, and rolls his eyes into the back of his head.
A commotion starts at the front of the bar. I stand up on the bar rail to look over the crowd. All I can see is someone dressed in a Nazi uniform, next to a six-foot-tall drag queen wearing a veil.