Ho Ho Ho

It’s been quiet in here for a few days. I stare a lot, at the window of my side bar. Ho Ho Ho Ho is spray painted on the window. But whichever waitress wrote it, did it the wrong way, so it reads oh oh oh inside, for the audience. Funny. No one passes the outside of that window, it faces another brick wall, of a bank. It’s not even where the smokers go. I think it was the new girl. 

I’ve been drinking on shift. Sneaking shots of a local vodka every time I have to bend down to get something off the shelf. I’ve filled up the olive swords, and paper straws a lot today for an empty pub. Charlie told me I could flip off the on sign by eleven if I still don’t have anyone in. I’ve got five more minutes and it’s showtime. Closing time. I have a date with a bottle and my shitty uncomfortable couch. 

Since she’s cut ties with me, I’ve been in this slump. I know it’s normal, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I have always been attracted to women who don’t want me the same way. It’s the classic thrill of the chase.. bitterly heart wrenching doom. To want what we cannot have. 

Jingle bells sing from the front door, and my date with the couch has been postponed.

Charlie’s is now filled with laughter and drunken joy. Four men and two ladies approach me, not with a hello, but with carolling.. they are not doing what they think they may be. They are ruining my night. I need to get out of here, so I can be alone at home, and stare at all the past messages we have shared together.

I line up six shots, and thank them kindly. With that they exit, barely even acknowledging I was alive. The drink poured. That’s all they were looking for. Pub crawling carollers on the prowl for free drinks. 

Ho Ho Ho.

The olives get put away, the lemons, limes, and juices. I count the beers and measure the bottles. All the closing duties of a bartender done robotically for nine years now. Nine years in this same shit hole. I mean, Charlie’s great and all, and the joints not too bad either, but the crowd sometimes... everynow and then, usually on Friday, we get a nasty crowd in here. They spit on the floor, harass women, sell their drugs in the washrooms. Think they bloody own the place. It’s gotten so bad on the weekends when their around, that the police do random check ins with us. These customers, they definitely don’t like me. I stand up for the women being harassed. Tell them she’s taken, or to take a hike. They flex on me each and every time. It’s only a matter of time before I get myself hurt for it too, I can feel it. 

That’s how I met her. That’s how I meet a lot of them. And I always fall so hard. And they never ever do. I think it’s the rush they get from being “saved” by another man. Like, at that exact moment I was their hero or something. But then they realize I’m just a pathetic sad knob. I’m mean, they fuck me. If I’m lucky I’ll get a few weeks in before they notice my weak traits. But they never feel how I do. They never feel that I could be relationship material, boyfriend material. Always the nice guy sitting on the sidelines. 

Tonight it’s Friday, but it’s Christmas Eve and no ones been around besides those fucking carollers. The bar is ready to be put to bed. And I am ready to hit the couch. 

I decide to steal a bottle from Charlie, I’ll write it down on a post it, stick it to the cash register so I don’t get in too much shit. I wonder if Charlie knows I’ve blown it. Like if He’s noticed Im Off my fucking rockets these days. I’m an alcoholic. I think I am anyways. I used to drink to celebrate, and now, just to numb myself. Maybe I’m not alcoholic, just an abuser? I don’t even know if that means the same thing. Maybe not. maybe time for A.A.

Oh fuck. 

The front door jungle bells are singing again. My eyes are blurry from all the stolen shots. It does not. Look good. I see heavy coats, maybe four of them. No one is talking. Why the hell did I get drunk in here on a fucking Friday? They come toward me, and all I can focus on is a metal revolver pointed at my drunk pathetic face. My hands go up. 

“Start puttin those hands to better use you faggot, and fill up the bag with money, and all the henny”. 

Ho Ho Ho.

I do as I’m told, like a good little bitch. I still get gun bucked in the face, which leaves me with a broken nose and two future black eyes. I didn’t give them the money from the safe. And they were too dumb to ask. But Charlie’s just lost a two grand float, and nine bottles of Hennessy. 

I take two bottles of vodka for myself now instead of one, a six pack of beer, and some smokes. I wrote it under the original post it note and walked out. 

Ho Ho Ho.

I stumble up the stairs of my apartment. Bruised, bleeding and drunk. I don’t have any urge to call the police, or to even call Charlie to explain. I just need these drinks. There is a sloppy mess of a human slumped down on the welcome mat of my apartment door. She’s got a bottle too, and a face full of tears and ruined mascara. It’s her. I guess I’ll be the hero, just one more night. Because no one, no one, likes to be alone on Christmas. 

Ho Ho Ho.

The end.