Custard’s Last Stand

All weekend I had been planning to start my new healthy eating regimen today, since I seem to have fallen off the health food bandwagon right into the lap of McDonald’s. All I wanted was ONE donut but it was late and the store had already packaged that day’s goodies into boxes of 10 for $1.99, and who am I to pass up such a good deal?

So yesterday my mindset was that of “I may as well eat all the donuts I can today because come tomorrow I can’t have any” and I ended up eating six of them, plus a slice of cheesecake.

Apparently you can get a donut hangover, because today am I nauseated, headachey, and just all-around icky. Who knew?

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Temporary Perfection

One quiz and one exam into my nutrition class, I have a 100% average. Pardon me for tooting my own horn, but that’s freaking awesome. I’ll be ecstatic if I manage to keep it up, but I’m not about to hold myself to that impossible standard for the entire semester. For now, I’m just basking in the glory.

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Rough Weekend

Friday, 7:10 pm
At work, Jimmy (a regular customer at the bar) pulls me aside. He tells me how Ethan spent all day hanging out with Kenny (a total alcoholic) and how he had to literally carry Ethan inside and lay him on the couch. Ethan is not supposed to drink. At the very least he’d be back in the hospital with killer stomach pains and at worst he could slip into a coma and die.

Needless to say I’m upset, so I ask the cook to watch the bar for a few minutes, speed the block and a half to Ethan’s apartment, storm into his room and break down sobbing. Ethan is bewildered (he’s still drunk). We fight, I tell him how selfish he’s being by doing this to himself, because ultimately I am the one who has to take care of him, it’s me who has to spend hours every day in the hospital, I’m the one who gets left behind to deal if he doesn’t make it. He cries and says he’s never had anyone care so much about him, and swears on everything sacred that no drop of alcohol will ever cross his lips again. I make him pinky swear.

9:25 pm
Kenny calls the bar to tell me he’s just taken Ethan to the emergency room. I’m sick, literally nauseous, with worry and I can barely serve a drink but I have a bar full of young guys going through bottles of Jagermeister so there’s really nothing I can do. I call my boss, leave a message saying I really need to leave and could he please find someone to finish the night for me or let me close early. An hour goes by, no word from the boss man, the plowed guys leave, the bar is empty, I’m crying continuously now. I turn off the neons saying “I really hope I don’t get fired,” clean as fast as I’ve ever cleaned before, and race over to the emergency room.

E is there, he’s in a lot of pain but he’s ok, and after his IV is finished they release him. After being so hopped up on adrenaline all night I crash, and the second I get home I’m asleep.

Saturday, 5:17 pm
As I’m walking into work I see that my boss is sitting outside waiting for me. Uh oh. This is how the girl before me got fired. Insert spiel about how he understands how I felt but it’s simply unacceptable to close the bar at 11 on a Friday night and I probably cost him several hundred dollars. Blah blah blah, I just can’t rely on you, blah blah blah. “So, am I fired?” “Yes, I’ll need your keys.”

I refuse to let him see that I’m upset. When I got fired from my first job, I broke down crying in front of the manager, and I will not let it happen again. I’m heartbroken, I loved that little bar. This is so unfair. But hey, he’s the boss, it’s not like I can make him change his mind. I did break the rules. I don’t cry until I’m in my car.

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