Several more weekends of chronic verbal assault, emotional and mental abuse, seemed to sail by with Chef on his A game of complete debauchery. Spirits were low, oddly enough, spirits were the only thing to get us high in this situation, so we kept a clean buzz to numb the pain until we saw the light of day once again and were safe for another fourteen hours.
At least this is what I thought. In my third weekend I experienced the most exhausting thirty hours of my life. I was contemplating my own insanity when the more practical side of my brain (which seemed to be cowering in a corner between depression and anger) gently reminded me I was not the one who was that crazy. Unfortunately, just when I thought it was safe, when I could rest easy, it seems as though I became the last standing, better yet the Devils associate in Hells Pub.
I've witnessed at least 12 people come and go in eight weeks as I was cautiously tiptoeing around the bar when the compliments came. I wanted to smile and be grateful that Chef was showing me some appreciation, "having you at the pub makes this easy for me, I wish you could be involved in all the other aspects of my life", no thanks. but this has just made me a bit more terrified. When suddenly your enemy has a "change of heart" you put your dukes up... And your mouthguard in.
He is right however. We don't bother each other and maybe that's why this is working out so well. I really enjoy the job, who doesn't want to get paid to drink and bullshit with people? And oddly enough we work well together. So then there was BB, the last standing champ of Hells Pub.
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