So Long, ’09…

January 3, 2010 at 1:00 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

It’s back to work for the first day of the new year. I worked New Year’s Eve, volunteering so I could get a two-day weekend. The fellow I replaced was thrilled, questioning my sanity but not so much that he declined my offer. He likes it quiet, I like it rowdy. While it didn’t get rowdy, I did have a good time.

And got paid for it.

The nightclub district has been dying a slow, painful death near the store. I don’t miss the gang-fights and shootings, but there was a time when the night brought a sense of excitement. Hoochie mamas and pimps-in-training, trashy wigga homeboys from Hillsboro, they would migrate downtown, spending copious amounts of disposable income. I’d usually be gone before the real excitement began, around closing time. Throngs of inebriated playas would pour into the streets, awaiting dispersal by PoPo. A little mace, a couple fights. Aah, good times.

With this kind of history, Master P decided two people should be working at all times, so he assigned Dr T to supervise me. Woohoo! With Dr T, the conversation rolls easily, and only devolves into nonsense when we want it to. In other words, frequently.

For a while, it seemed like a waste to have two people working. We puttered, stocked, took turns going outside to make sure the sidewalk hadn’t rolled up on us. About 10 PM the crowds began wandering forth. We became the go-to spot for Newports and chewing gum.

Everyone behaved well, and there was plenty to look at. One group of well-proportioned ladies came in for condoms and cameras. I stood to make sure no one was pocketing anything as one gal showed a fellow the Chinese characters on her inner thigh. She caught me looking and smiled in mock chastisement.

After she left I asked Dr T, “Did you catch the action at the wine rack?”

“Yeah,” he said with an evil chuckle. “Leopard skin panties…” His voice took on a dreamy quality.

The jostling boobies and unique hairdos were on nonstop parade the rest of my shift. After the graveyard relief arrived, I took off in a hurry, wanting to get out of downtown before the “ball dropped.” Once midnight rolls around, a mass migration heads for the bus. I wanted to beat that.

I did pretty well. Other than the driver, I was the only sober one on the bus. (And I wasn’t so sure about her.) She hooted and hollered, had Christmas lights hanging around her driving cage, and turned a blind eye to the open 12-pack being shared in the back. Two separate groups held sing-alongs, and no one tried to make me sing, drink or otherwise celebrate. I tend to be a loner sourpuss when riding the bus. I thank everyone for indulging me.

Now that the holidays are over, what’s next? Either St Patrick’s Day or Fat Tuesday. I should put in my request now for Fat Tuesday, according to Dr T. Last year I worked at the Mothership, and saw nary a mammarian flesh mound.

I fully intend on not letting that happen this year.

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