Oct 3rd

I paid the price for all my wages and woke up with a desert dry mouth and a splitting headache. (So, don't worry mom this isn't gonna become habit any time soon). I nursed a cup of water and washed the dishes while I sobered up. The phone rang and I stumbled over, picked it up, and heard a cheerful Irish tongue screeching from the speaker. It was my new boss—J.P. He needed help and wanted some solid work for his liquid wages.

We set up 100 chairs, moved tables, laughed a little, and BSed a lot more. My boss spoke the same language as Brother Martel—mumbling nonsense, so I felt right at home. J.P.’s less intimidating, but just as humorous.

After setting up for an event we took a lunch break. We slowly stepped down the stairs towards the kitchen. I’d wondered what was down the staircase. With every step my curiosity lessened and mental map filled in. J.P.’s sister prepared lunch for us as he tossed me a plate, knife, and fork and introduced me to his mother. The German pork sausage, fried bacon, poached eggs, fresh buttered bread, and sugar with a little coffee went down easy. His family drilled me with questions as I boringly responded by spitting out words of a tired gibberish.

After I put his family to sleep with my lullaby of words, J.P. and I shuffled up the stairs, out the door, to the pub. We swept, vacuumed, and mopped the sticky, shattered glass covered, stale beer smelling, tile floor. Then I scrubbed up a pile of vomit with sanitizer, restocked the shelves, moved out the cashed kegs, replaced the gas tanks, cleaned the lines, dollied new kegs in, tapped the kegs, bleached the counter tops, and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

After cleaning the pub out, J.P. smiled and thanked me. The thanks, food, and knowledge gained about tapping kegs, cleaning lines, and replacing lager and stout gas tanks fully satisfied me. As I walked out of the pub he threw me a €20 bill, a bottle of red wine, and my dignity from a hard day’s work. J.P. informed me that next week the tile roof needed to be repainted if I was interested in being a master painter.

Walking into my cottage with a full stomach, some cash, and a bottle of wine felt grand. I rubbed it in to Joe, because last week when I talked about asking J.P. for a job he laughed in my face.

After gloating to my cottagemates I took a nap. Then cottage 4 hosted an all-cottage potluck with free bottomless wine. I opted out of the wine. I lived up to my knick name given to me in grade school – faithful pooch. Faithful pooch, because in social environments I operate like a puppy. While wagging my tail, I approach everyone, sniff ‘em out and quickly move on to the next circle of people to steal some attention.

After a long day of work, socializing, and drinking water I gave Jinette a jingle and followed that up with some shut eye.