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CHAPTERONE
Sigh. Mignon here.
This is an incomplete copy ofDrunk Girl. If you’re seeing this, please email me at [email protected] — additionally, the moment I notice the file error/receive the first email, I’ll be putting in a word with Amazon immediately to have the correct file pushed (in which case, you’ll receive an email from Amazon stating there’s been an update).
Thank you, and I’m so very sorry.
Jake
“Welcome to O’Gallaghers,”I mumble to myself, unlocking the back entryway to the pub I’ve been working at for the better part of a year. We’re not supposed to open solo, but my opener, Ben—who also happens to be my roommate—is making a run to the grocery store down the street for limes at the suggestion of the closer. It’s better I send him now. We won’t get a third body in the pub for another two hours, and by that time, our kitchen order should be arriving. Once the truck arrives, we’ll have other things to worry about.
It’s not like this area is riddled with crime. It’s a pretty safe neighborhood.
I do, however, lock the door behind me as I walk into the kitchen.
My first tasks this morning include a preliminary check of the pub, which I do as I make my way to the alarm system. Nothing seems amiss, so I move onto inventory. When Ben gets here with the limes, he’ll prep and refill the condiment bar, and about ten minutes before we unlock for the day, I’ll get the till in place. There’s a fifteen minute time-delay to open the safe, but I’ve been opening twice a week for the last eleven months. I have my tasks down to a science and know precisely when to set the safe for opening.
It's not long before there’s a pounding that directs my attention to the front. The main door to the pub is old and wooden, with frosted glass in the top half. I don’t know that it’s original to the building, but it’s been in place as long as the O’Gallagher family’s been here.
Unlatching the set of locks, I open the door wide, allowing Ben in.
“How many’d you grab?” I ask, resecuring the locks.
“Just four.” Ben tosses the bag on the bar, then ties his hair up in “man bun” at the top of his head.
I’ve been giving him shit about the hair for the last year.
Ben and I met a few months after I started at O’Gallaghers—he took a position shortly after I did. He needed a place to stay, and I’d recently had a roommate move out.
Worked out great.
Worked out even better that he’s an all-around good guy and easy to get along with.
That, and the fact we keep very similar schedules.
The guy’sonlynegative is he’s a modern day Snow White and the stray cats near us gravitate toward him. Now my dog Boo, an American Bully mix, herds cats around the apartment and has given up her extra-large bed for a blind, white cat.
“Figured the order is due to come today, isn’t it? So, more will be here in time for the St. Paddy’s shit.” Ben is now behind the bar, washing his hands as he gets ready to prep the condiments.
“Hopefully.” The truck drivers have been arriving later than usual. They used to arrive right when we unlocked the doors but the last few weeks they haven’t gotten here until closer to three. That’s four hours to potentially be low—or worse, out—of something. And with only two or three bodies in the pub, if it’s busy it’s not easy to send someone to the store. Hence, sending Ben before we even got here today.
While he has the front of house, I go back into the office to start unlocking the safe and get the back of house ready. Fifteen minutes later, the till is in place and we’re unlocking for the day.
Early days aren’t typically busy here, unless it’s a sport day. Everyone in town knows that the NHL Enforcers hang out here, and regardless of time, we have their games on live. We turn on baseball and football, too—hard no to golf, sorry not sorry; I’ll play it, just can’t get me to watch it—and the occasional NASCAR race on Sundays, but when it’s not a sport day, it usually takes a while before people start piling in.
We’ll probably see a few regulars that come in at lunch, and then the afterwork crowd will start walking through the doors at about three or so.
On days I work the late shift—six to two, although I’ve done some three to twos—the afterwork crowd starts to grow with the after dinner crowd, and then you have the late-nighters.
I don’t know that there’s a shift I prefer the most, although it’s nice to be able to go to bed before midnight on occasion.
Today’s shift goes by easily, if not a little slow. We go up to three bartenders at two, and Shayne arrives right on time. She started at O’Gallaghers after Ben and me, but she’s a hit with the regulars and when it was time for her or Ben to promote to shift lead, she was the one who got the position—not that Ben even wanted it.
Everyone loves her. The majority of our staff is male, but whenever Shayne or our other female bartender Nicole—but goes by Colie—work, tips go up. They’re fun when they work together—kind of good cop, bad cop vibes, with Colie being the good cop and Shayne being the bad.
We aren’t the place to go to if you’re looking for slutty barmaids, so it’s not ass cheeks and titties that have people loving them. It’s just their overall personalities.
Honestly, the group we have right now is great.
