Working in a restaurant can suck. Unlike in the movies, it isn’t the constant bed swap with everyone who works there. Sure, that happens, but it’s not one blur of an orgy I’d like it to be. There’s the long hours, little pay, and you always go home smelling like you rolled around in every mix of spice before deep frying yourself. Luckily, anytime someone wants any “thing” to relax, one person or another has it. Granted, it’s not all bad. Even for a cook.
Just so you guys remember, I’m in pretty good shape, but I chain smoke, and like to drink my beer as if it were grape Kool-Aide in south central Los Angeles. In other words, I down that shit like I had to keep my veins filled. I’ve got plenty of tattoos and a naturally sour disposition, so working in the restaurant is just perfect for me. The staff is generally as bitter as I am, but we like to have our fun by teasing each other.
If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant before, you know how there are certain rituals/routines you do, especially the late shift. My routine consisted of grabbing a 24 pack of cheap beer and meeting with the rest of the closers under a bridge crossing over the city river. We hang out, drink, make out, get high, and at least one “couple” gets a fuck or two in. It’s a great way to blow off steam, and generally speaking, no one bothers us since no one ever goes down there. Hell, we’re not even supposed to be down there, but whatever. Fuck the pigs. They would never be able to chase us all down, anyway.
Well on this particular night I was going to end up being alone. Most of the closing shift was also going to open, and those who didn’t either had class the next morning or other plans. “Fuck it,” I thought to myself, “No reason to waste a perfectly good spring night, right?” So, I took my beer and headed to the hang out spot, tucked myself up under the bridge, pulled my bandana lower on my brow, lit up a cigarette and cracked open a beer. I relished that beer. The dinner service was a night bred by the unholy sexcapade between the Twilight Zone and Satan’s asshole. I’m not kidding…it was odd, hot, and annoying. I closed my eyes, taking a long drag and slowly exhaled, imagining the smoke itself was all of the stress for the day…no, the god damn week escaping my body. As tranquility and the start of a buzz slowly began to set over me, as at this time I was eight beers in, my peace was disturbed by one of the most annoying sounds I have ever heard.
Have you ever heard SpongeBob SquarePants laugh, but with an odd Boston accent followed by guffaws belched out by retarded hicks trying to sound like they are 50 Cent? Be glad you haven’t, because my blood pressure instantly raised. The fact I hadn’t realized they were coming to my location wasn’t annoying enough, their laughing and voices did. Their echoed cackles off the concrete pierced my ears like a thousand rusty nails making it impossible, for the moment, for me to hear what they then continued to chatter on about. I remained in my perch, waiting for them to say something to me as they came under the bridge, but they didn’t. Instead, they stopped directly next to the edge of the concrete ledge and sat down. I realized at that moment, they had no idea I was there. So, I stayed quiet, and sipped on my beer.
Just so you know, the concrete spillway, which everyone called a river, was normally pretty close to empty. Thanks to an unusual amount of seasonal rain, the water was only about two feet below the edge. The water looked cold, but was obviously not flowing very fast…at least noticeably on the surface. I’m sure there was some undertow at work, but I’m not a fucking water scientist, so I don’t know. I’d just assume the water would be uncomfortable to swim in.
When my ears regained the ability to hear sounds again, I learned their names. Well, I kind of did. The obvious leader of the pack was named Chuck. The only reason I know this is because his little rat friend kept calling him “Chuck”. I’m not kidding…it was “Chuck” this and “Chuck” that, and “Okay, Chuck!” there, and “That’s funny, Chuck!” here. One thing was immediately obvious to me: I hated Chuck with all of my being. He was a huge piece of shit who got off on the little bit of power he had over that little rat faced punk and the girl. The douche bag wore a mostly white wife beater. The reason I say “mostly” is due to the yellow marks under the arm holes, which could be seen even in the terrible light provided by the over head street lamps. He accented the high taste in clothing by wearing pants sagged below his ass, where his red and blue stripped boxer shorts were visible. For shoes? Flip flops. Yeah…
The girl, who had an obvious red dye job and wore a tank top two sizes too tight and cut off shorts three sizes too small, was named “Bitch”. I don’t know if that was her actual name, but it’s all Chuck ever called her. The little rat faced bastard never referred to her as anything. She was also the source of the most offensively stereotypical Boston accent I had ever heard. At first I thought she was just pretending, but the more she talked the more I realized it never changed. Her voice always sucked, and almost the only thing she did was tell Chuck how great he was or repeat something he said, followed by that fucking SpongeBob laugh. If she wasn’t with these two dumb asses and didn’t have that voice, I’d have been more than happy to ruin her plumbing. That voice, though…eesh. The mere thought of her sex screams with that voice kept my penis softer than a feather.
Oh, and last but not least was Steve, also known as “dumb fuck / twat / dip shit / retard / faggot”, according to Chuck. “Bitch” was the only one to ever call him Steve, so I figure that was his God given name, not Chuck’s nicknames for him. From what I could tell, this kid was a bit younger than both Chuck and “Bitch”, but he was obviously smarter than both combined. What he was doing with both of them, I don’t know, but he always made sure not to correct Chuck or “Bitch” at any point during the conversation. Several times he had the look on his face which could be read as, “That’s…not right…but he’s the leader and she’s fucking him so I’ll be quiet!” Hell, he even dressed what I could consider “normal”. Because of his submissiveness, however, I hated him almost as much as Chuck, but not quite as much as “Bitch”…by a hair.
Yes, I had briefly thought about leaving, but since they didn’t know I was there, I figured there was no point. Over the course of about an hour, I drank the rest of my beer and watched the spectacle of the bottom of the gene pool in front of me. These geniuses discussed everything from the uber important “faggot ass cops” to “just print more money”. To say I was in awe would be an overstatement. It’s when Chuck announced he had to “take a mean fucking piss” things got interesting. Instead of going elsewhere, Chuck stood straight up, dropped his pants around his ankles, and began to pee into the water. At least at first.
See, Chuck was proving he was a big boy. With his hands on his hips, Chuck leaned backwards while pissing and let out this, “Argh wahahahahah argh!” Both Steve and “Bitch” laughed and cheered him on. In a move taken straight out of a German porn, Chuck turned toward Steve and began pissing on him. Steve did his best to block the stream from his face, but it wasn’t very effective. Whipping to the side, Chuck then began to piss on “Bitch”. Surprisingly, “Bitch” did nothing to get out of the way. Apparently she was used to being marked as territory, because she just laughed. I had enough at this point. It was time to take action.
I became a man with a mission. Deeply sucking in the last of my cigarette, I blew it out like a steam powered train before pulling my bandana over my mouth like a wild west bandit. I charged down the little hill towards them. They were still completely oblivious to my presence. I had the element of surprise!
For no reason I can fathom, perhaps fueled by my increasing inebriation, as I neared them I screamed out, “COBRA!!!!!” I was possessed by the 1980’s cartoon G.I. Joe enemies, guided by the dark hand of Cobra commander. Again, I don’t know why, but it just felt so right. It also had the desired effect of scaring the shit out of all three of them. I mean, three wannabe wiggers hanging out under a bridge at two in the morning suddenly being charged by a man in a bandana over his face is scary shit.
Chuck spun around in fear, the last bit of piss soaking his boxers and pants. He tried in vain to reach down in order to pull his pants up, but I was too fast. I jumped in the air and, using both knees against his upper body while pushing his head back with my arms, I knocked Chuck into the water. His, “WHAT THE FUCK!” was cut short as he hit the water hard. “Bitch” managed to stand and begin to run, but my main focus was Steve at this point, who was trying to scramble to his feet. I grabbed Steve by a fist full of hair, punched him in the ribs, and then threw him into the water as well, right next to Chuck. Before I could admire my work for too long, I realized “Bitch” was getting away. Like the mighty toro, I charged after her, cocked my hand back, and smacked her so hard on the ass I literally knocked her off her feet. She got a good foot or so of air as she grabbed her backside and screamed about her ass as she hit the floor. The funniest part about cracking her on the ass that hard, besides the extremely loud echo from the impact of my hand on her little butt, was how she screamed. Her accent made it sound something akin to, “Moyi awwss!”
Laughing, I beat back in the other direction, and saw Chuck desperately trying to get out of the water, but failing to do so due to his pants keeping him from pulling himself up. Steve, however, showed that small sign of intelligence and swam down stream a few yards where the ledge was shorter. It was a sign of independence and thought which would no doubt get him a severe beating by Chuck later, since Chuck saw Steve getting out of the water and began swimming his direction. Just as Steve got out of the water completely, I body slammed him back into the water, right on top of Chuck’s head. I continued to laugh as I ran towards the exit and my car. The entire time, I could hear Chuck screaming how he was going to find me and murder my family. Good luck with that buddy.
The moment I got in my car, I heard sirens in the distance. I am certain they weren’t coming for us, but I wanted to take no chances, and floored my Impala as hard as I could. That rebuilt LT1 growled to life as my tires smoked before gaining traction. All the way home I laughed. It was the best sleep and time under that bridge I had in a long time…and that includes all the fucking I had done there previously.