Why Is It That When Shit Happens... Part Two

Thursday nights at the club are pretty dull. It’s hardcore night and the punters love it, which means they’re dancing not drinking. I usually spend a lot of time examining my fingernails and re-arranging the spirits bottles lined up along the back shelf of the bar. And since Don had found and appropriated my stash, I didn't even have the occasional trip to the loo to look forward to. Talk about being in dire need of a diversion.

I was so bored I almost felt grateful when Don and his posse turned up. Don is the owner of the joint and the only person alive who doesn’t get the full-on nasty treatment from the Fat Bastard. F.B. Mike knows which side his loaf of bread is buttered; you can guarantee that as soon as Don walks through the door Mike’s nose will be rammed so far up his arse as to necessitate surgical removal.

Don was checking me out from the moment he swaggered in; why I’m not sure as that night I looked like something the cat threw up. I went over to deliver yet another bottle of cut-price bubbly and before I knew it I was on his knee with his hands clamped firmly around my waist. Fortunately Don has the attention span of a two-year-old so I knew that as soon as a girl with a more flesh on show than me walked past I’ll be free, so I just resigned myself to the unpleasant experience and tried to avoid smelling Don's breath.

Don's like, looking even more gorgeous than usual, Sara. Why don’t you sit down and join us? I'm like, do I have a choice here? Don goes, no, what Don wants Don gets. I'm like, uhuh, is that right? He's like, sure is. Arse, I thought, but I drank up, my smile getting weaker by the second as Don attempted to look soulfully into my eyes. Seconds later a shiny blonde goddess in a tiny gold mini-dress wiggled her way past the table and I found myself on the floor. Lucky for me he's such a slag.

Don and his table were still in full-on party mode by the time the club closed. I was totally looking forward to getting home; no after-hours partying for me, I've been pushing it a bit lately and needed some r&r. I closed down my bar fast and headed over to the cloakroom to collect my stuff, stopping for a quick chat with Tara the cloakroom girl, a candidate for Prozac if I’ve ever seen one. Then I made for the loo.

The first thing I saw when I opened the door was Don’s hairy buttocks pumping into the shiny blonde goddess. I made a mental note to tell the cleaner to do an especially thorough job tomorrow and turned to go but I wasn’t fast enough. Don caught sight of me in the mirror. Sara! he goes, get your kit off and get stuck in! - the goddess giving me evils from her perch on the sink, Don looking more eager than I've ever seen him. I'm like, euwww, trying to tear my eyes away from the purple erection pointing at me, thinking, oh my God, this is the stuff of nightmares.

Don starts bellowing, don't be shy Sara, rumour has it you're no stranger to cock! I'm like, yeah, sorry Don, no can do, I've got a serious case of crabs. Doctor says I'm off fun and games for at least a month. Don's face falls and he starts to wilt. Anyway, I go, sorry to disturb you, I'd better be off. Then I got the hell out of there.

Working in a club really sucks sometimes.

Maybe it’s time I got a new job.