Carne Asada Fries, a Stripper, and a Russian Chick

So I'm working a Friday night at The Olive Garden.

I don't have a car nor a license because of my recent DUI. Bear that in my mind for the rest of this story.

The last bus that passes through the area arrives at 10:30. I am usually out of that horrible job by 10 at the latest.

No worries about missing the bus since I can make it which I have been doing for the past two months. But this night was an exception, and I have to give thanks to my middle-aged, simple-minded, divorced, scarred face from zits in the past, previously fat-ass boss for making this so.

As a busser at The OG(as the employees call it to make it sound like we work at an at least somewhat cool place but knowing it sucks horribly), I am forced to roll silverware into napkins everyday which one day will cause my fingers to fall off or enjoy painful years of carpal tunnel. Well, this night my colorfully-described manager wanted all bussers to roll ALL silverware in the damn restaurant. This will be about 1000+ rolls to make.

OK, I can't stay past 10:30. The bus is my only way home. I can't get home any other way. My boss should understand. He is a human being with a brain, some compassion(maybe a little more during this time of year).

All those were thoughts and assumption I had. Thoughts and assumptions that were proved wrong.

"I'm gonna have to take you off the schedule since we can't guarantee you can work this late," he says.

"OK, fine I can find a ride somehow in case of emergencies like now(yeah like this is one?)," were the words coming out of my mouth as my brain was rambling on and on a string of colorful words that cannot be found in the dictionary.

I missed the bus. My friend could pick me up but not 'til later. He was going out and I didn't want to intrude on his night. This is technically my business, and I'm lucky enough I can get home somehow.

Across the parking lot is an Irish pub. A little visit there and onto the Sombrero's Mexican food next door.

Walking into the brilliantly lit fast food caused me to wait as my senses were adjusting from the change of low lights and cigarette smoke to bright incendiary lights and Mexican spices and salsa.

As I'm waiting in line, I look to my left and who I see sitting there is a friend from work. He did not even work that night. But that was not the biggest surprise. He just happens to be sitting with a very, very hot girl who is out of his league...interesting.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I exclaim walking up to them.

He introduces me to this girl as Carol Ann, which I later mistake as Mary Ann, and sit down and talk.

I find out she is a stripper. She calls herself an independent contractor and works for Cheetahs and Deja Vu. This was interesting. I wanted to know how she could do some of that shit on stage and this was my chance to ask. With liquor in me I felt brave and went ahead with my interrogation.

I discover I was right about those girls getting fucked up on stage. But also she had danced completely sober before, however, she got less money because she was less, how should I say it, open.

She was nice a girl and I'm not talking about only her looks. She was sick so they left soon after that.

I was left with still an hour to kill. It is now 1:30AM.

I talk to a Russian girl over the phone for that hour that I am interested in. My friend arrives after his night at the gay club to take me home. He had fun but I am not interested in hearing the details of his night.

I tell the Russian beauty to come over since she doesn't have anything to do. And who would? It's three o'clock in the damn morning. But she comes anyway.

We chill and talk but I want to get her alone(not to have sex but just one on one time)as my roommate doesn't get the hint that he should leave.

Eventually we lay on the couch about to watch one of my favorite movies, Pulp Fiction. We get to enjoy the first 20 minutes of the film as we pass out before we could see the rest.

It was about 4:30AM.

She left the next morning or should I say that morning.