The Aftermath pt. 5
I feel I should bring this one to an end.
The Friday of the 500 was one crazy night. As soon as last call came, the restaurant was officially closed. Everyone had to leave, including myself. I was not about to hang out any longer. After I clocked out I waiting in the main dining area because the crowd of people were funneling through the front door. I had no way of getting out until they left. As the crow was leaving, I surveyed the area. The place thrashed beyond belief. Swizzle sticks, limes, lemons, napkins, feathers from costumes, and who knows what littered the ground.
I spoke to one of the servers and asked him how late he was going to be there. He said that he would probably be there until 4am. Later, I found out my manager was there until 6:30 in the morning. I so do not want his job.
After successfully leaving the restaurant I walked several block so I could catch the late bus or possibly a taxi, whichever came first. The damned night bus took its sweet time to get there and I was getting a little anxious to get home. Finally, I found a taxi that was nice enough to take me home.
I love taxi drivers. Some of them are the most lively human beings in the world. I admire them for the jobs they do. The man that picked me up is no exception. He had been doing it for several years. He seemed to like his job despite the fact that he no longer lived in the city. He actually had about an hour drive home that night and I was probably one of his last fares. We had a great conversation the whole ride home, which was great for me because I was tired of telling people how to use the damned faucet.
At one point a group of young men in a car pulled up beside the cab as we were at a stoplight. They motioned to the driver to roll down his window. He didn't want to do it at first but curiosity got the best of him. They asked him where a certain club was.
"Oh," he said, "What you need to do is make a left here, go down two blocks, and make a right. It's right there."
I was quite impressed because I had not heard of the club. The guys waved at the cabbie and drove off.
"Fuck those guys," he said. "They weren't going to any club. They were just fucking with me. I don't know where that fucking club is. I just told them that to get off my case. They're not going to any club at 2:30 in the morning. Last call already happened."
Y'know, he was right. I liked my cab driver. He did something that I've always wanted to do.
I have to say that I am fully recovered from my Party of 500 Night. It took me a few days. I honestly wasn't really back up to full speed until Tuesday. But, I'm okay now. Just in time for Sunday night's party of 300-600 people.
The Friday of the 500 was one crazy night. As soon as last call came, the restaurant was officially closed. Everyone had to leave, including myself. I was not about to hang out any longer. After I clocked out I waiting in the main dining area because the crowd of people were funneling through the front door. I had no way of getting out until they left. As the crow was leaving, I surveyed the area. The place thrashed beyond belief. Swizzle sticks, limes, lemons, napkins, feathers from costumes, and who knows what littered the ground.
I spoke to one of the servers and asked him how late he was going to be there. He said that he would probably be there until 4am. Later, I found out my manager was there until 6:30 in the morning. I so do not want his job.
After successfully leaving the restaurant I walked several block so I could catch the late bus or possibly a taxi, whichever came first. The damned night bus took its sweet time to get there and I was getting a little anxious to get home. Finally, I found a taxi that was nice enough to take me home.
I love taxi drivers. Some of them are the most lively human beings in the world. I admire them for the jobs they do. The man that picked me up is no exception. He had been doing it for several years. He seemed to like his job despite the fact that he no longer lived in the city. He actually had about an hour drive home that night and I was probably one of his last fares. We had a great conversation the whole ride home, which was great for me because I was tired of telling people how to use the damned faucet.
At one point a group of young men in a car pulled up beside the cab as we were at a stoplight. They motioned to the driver to roll down his window. He didn't want to do it at first but curiosity got the best of him. They asked him where a certain club was.
"Oh," he said, "What you need to do is make a left here, go down two blocks, and make a right. It's right there."
I was quite impressed because I had not heard of the club. The guys waved at the cabbie and drove off.
"Fuck those guys," he said. "They weren't going to any club. They were just fucking with me. I don't know where that fucking club is. I just told them that to get off my case. They're not going to any club at 2:30 in the morning. Last call already happened."
Y'know, he was right. I liked my cab driver. He did something that I've always wanted to do.
I have to say that I am fully recovered from my Party of 500 Night. It took me a few days. I honestly wasn't really back up to full speed until Tuesday. But, I'm okay now. Just in time for Sunday night's party of 300-600 people.
posted by t.a.f.k.a.y.e.l.r.a. at 01:23
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