Page 15 of Glass Half Full
The sounds of the bar creep into the silent office. Zach sits there looking like he’s working on a particularly challenging jigsaw puzzle while I listen to the cooks crashing around in the kitchen and tap my foot to the distant throb of the music coming from the front of house.
It must be a full minute later before Zach crosses his arms over his chest and rocks his chair onto its back legs. He looks like he should be chewing on a piece of wheat as a tumbleweed blows by.
“Okay, first off, no one is ever going to be here for this place like Monroe because Monroe is possibly not even human. You have to be some kind of demi-god to run this place the way she does.”
I nod my agreement; he’s got a point there.
“Secondly, you’re the most trustworthy guy I know. When you say you’re going to do something, you do it. You give everything you’ve got to the things you commit to. You’re that guy who’s alwaysthere, you know? Probably being loud and overenthusiastic and making some stupid joke, but you’re there, man. We all see it. We all appreciate it. We’re not going to start a mutiny because of a few mistakes or oversights. You’re not walking the plank just yet, my friend.”
“Yeah, if you guys get allPirates of the Caribbeanon me, I’m busting out my sword.”
Zach eyes get wide with excitement. “Wait, you own a sword?”
“No, I do not own a sword, you dipshit.”
“Swords are cool!” he protests. “Don’t get my hopes up about swords!”
“Okay, I can agree that swords are pretty fucking cool. I will not mess with your emotions as far as archaic weaponry goes.”
We keep shooting the shit for the next few minutes until Monroe shows up. This is what I’m good at—not that dicking around at work is a skill, but there’s something to be said for creating an atmosphere where people feel comfortable. That’s what I was thinking of when I said “Fuck yes!” to becoming a manager. I want to make people feel good about being at work. I want them to believe that even though they’re stuck chopping up potatoes or serving drinks to dickhead customers, they’re still doing something fun because they’re surrounded by fun people.
I want to be like that one radio announcer who always has you laughing like an idiot alone in your car. Yeah, you’re stuck in an hour of traffic on icy as fuck roads as you try to get home in time for a dinner date you’re probably going to miss, but the tunes are good and the commentary is killer, and at the end of the day, life is pretty fucking great.
That’s how I want people to feel when they walk into this bar: I want them to remember that life is pretty fucking great.
I just didn’t know it would involve this much paperwork and spreadsheets I don’t understand. I didn’t know it would feel this heavy to have everyone’s livelihoods riding on me figuring that shit out.
Monroe breezes in right on time for our meeting about the grand reopening. Instead of nodding along and pretending to be keeping up like I usually would, I pull my chair closer to the desk and pore over the documents with her. I ask questions. I’m sure they aren’t the smartest questions, but I ask them anyway.
Zach said I’m always there, and I’m going to do a better job of beingtherenow. I may not be sure I’m the right guy for this job, but it is my job. I promised myself a long time ago that I was done being the guy who always makes mistakes.
Five
Renee
ALLITERATION: The repetition of the initial letter or sound in a group of consecutive words
“Yeah!You did it! That is a perfect pint,ma belle.”
DeeDee hoists the glass of beer I just poured up in the air like it’s a trophy, tapping the side with one of her electric blue fingernails. They should clash with her bubblegum pink hair, but somehow she pulls off the nails—which compliment the blue gemstone in her belly button ring—perfectly.
It’s my second training shift with DeeDee, and I can’t help feeling like the frumpy caterpillar next to a Technicolor butterfly. DeeDee’s body makes crop tops look like they were invented for her use alone, and she seems to wear them no matter how cold it is outside. She has a throaty, slightly raspy voice that makes everything she says sound like an invitation to a wild party, and I swear the customers are physically incapable of saying no when she asks them if they want another round.
“You’re going to be giving me a run for my money if you keep this up.” She sets the glass down and winks before lifting her hand for a high five.
Dylan wasn’t wrong about her heart of gold. She may periodically stop working to booty pop when a song she likes comes on, and her ability to string French swear words together is as impressive as it is workplace inappropriate, but she’s been the most patient and encouraging teacher I’ve ever had. It might just be a glass of beer, but I can’t help swelling with pride like a first grader having their finger painting held up in front of the class.
“Thanks.” I tuck a few flyaway hairs behind my ear only to feel them spring back out of place a second later. “Although I doubt I’ll be competing with you anytime soon. I did break that beer bottle the other night.”
“Oh,chérie.” She pats me on the head. “It’s not a proper night at the bar until at least one beer bottle gets broken.”
We both turn around at the sound of someone clearing their throat and find Zach standing in the hall that leads to the back of house.
“You’ve been summoned to the kitchen,” he announces. “Dylan wants to do his...thing before everyone’s shift starts.”
I look between him and DeeDee. “His...thing?”
They both grin like they’re about to push me into a frigid swimming pool.
