I got talked into working another quince on Saturday. I'm sort of glad I did, it was $130 I didn't have before and overall, the people were okay. Except for these underage thug lifes who showed up wearing jerserys and other thug life accessories, which was Coors Extra offensive because they were related to the girl. I spotted one of them, wristband-less, with a Corona in hand, and before thinking about it, run from behind the bar and yell at him about it.
"Gimme that," says Cat.
"What?" says Thug.
"You're not 21, give me the beer," says Cat.
"No." says Thug.
"Yes." says Cat.
"No." says Thug.
He proceeds to do that super annoying thing where he holds it just out of my reach, like it's a piece of string and I'm a kitten. We circle for a minute, as he increasingly gets more and more upset and more and more in my face. Daniel saw the whole thing and came up to talk to Thug. And while Thug is distracted by Daniel, I rip the beer out of his hand and run off.
SUCCESS. But, now that I look back on it, amazingly retarded. Little Cat doesn't need to be argueing with drunk Thugs. Really, what was I going to do? Hit him with my bottle opener? I think my stealing of the bottle was top game, too. Like, really, let's see how pissed off I can make this man for Daniel to deal with him. Daniel is, by the way, my guardian angel from New Jersey.
Just TRY and underage drink on my watch, Thugs.
Saturday also marked a landmark event: the first time I was mad about having to go to work since the fire. Things must be getting back to normal.
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