I am in a different mode than everybody else.
It’s 1:30pm and I am just waking up. I’m outside, in a square, my favorite square Chippewa. I did not go home last night. I slept in my friends bed because I didn’t want to drive home late at night.
Bartending is morphing my schedule. I am up all night. I just woke up, I feel as if it were morning. In a few hours I have work. But for now I sleepily stumble into Parker’s Market and pour myself a brew. With a fresh pack of cigarettes, I am soaking up sun, waking up. Everyone around me, all these tourists and students and locals, moving like ants.
I embrace the night life. I went to bed at 6am.
I have everything I need thrown into the back seat of my car. I rummaged through the large pile for my deodorant, for my dry shampoo, my perfume, for a wrinkled shirt. I am a nomad and Walden my stead.
I pulled out my bowl from the console and broke into my new stash. The combination of the sun beating my back, a wind caressing my cheeks, with the sounds of people around and a styrofoam coffee cup in hand and a cigarette in lip, the caffeine-nicotine-weed kick starting my system like when I jam my keys in the ignition and GO!
I feel the itch. My time here is expiring. I still have time, but I hear the whistle blowing…
I have 5 bartending shifts this week. Bartending is completely different from serving. I am in a different mode.
There are twenties bulging from my purse. It will be the second deposit this week. No, last week. This is a new week. We start on Wednesday. We are on a different schedule than everybody. I’ll probably make two more before the week is done. For the first time in a long time I have money in the bank. That security provides a striking comfort.
Yes, I can do this. Fuck yeah, let’s do this.