Posts Tagged ‘Friday’

Fridays are, quite frankly, not my favourite days. I almost always have the last shift at the Fox and Raven, and it’s usually packed. That in itself would not be so bad, if it weren’t for Lloyd.

Lloyd is one of those people you come across in life, whom you suspect are some sort of karmic test. You know, a measure of your ability to endure trying situations. Without committing homicide.

Sometimes, if I’ve had a hard day, or I’m just feeling moody, and I need something to cheer me up, I might, just possibly, take advantage of the fact that Lloyd is such an idiot, and amuse myself. I once heard it said that if you want to beat a dog, you will always find a stick, but with Lloyd, well – it’s like someone said ‘Fetch!’ and he’s bringing you a bloody baseball bat to whack him round the head with.

Take last night, for example. Jeff, one of the regulars, asked for a scotch and coke. I was busy with a bunch of giggly twits from the University who all wanted different drinks, and insisted on yelling them out over the top of one another, and then changing their order three seconds later, and then deciding that what Shelley was having looked good, and they’d have seven of those, please, and quickly because they wanted to make it to the Marly in half an hour to meet Slug and Davo and the other boys from the colleges. So I called to Lloyd to get Jeff’s drink while I made seven “tequila sunrise, but, like, without the tequila, and with, what is it Shelley, oh yeah malibu”s. Once I’d managed to shoo the last tiny-skirted ditz away from the bar, I turned to see Lloyd pouring Jeff a bourbon and coke. This gave me ample opportunity to berate Lloyd for the next half an hour on how long he’d worked here, and couldn’t he tell the difference between bourbon and scotch, and, failing that, couldn’t he read the labels, it’s written right there on the bottles…

It's not scotch, Lloyd

It's not scotch, Lloyd

I felt much better afterwards.

However it seemed fate was out to make sure I didn’t make it to the end of the night with my sanity intact. Lloyd, generally speaking, is not a quick learner, so only fifteen minutes after the last echoes of my ranting had died away, he was back, half dancing around me as I retrieved a Corona from the fridge.

“Artie, Artie,” he said. “Artie.”

“Don’t call me that, Lloyd.”

“Artie, guess what my name is.”

I looked at him. “I could think of a few names that would suit you, but I don’t know that you’d like them so much.”

“No, no, Artie, I’ve changed my name, and you’ve got to guess what it is.”

“I don’t have time for this, Lloyd.” I pushed the lime wedge into the top of the bottle with a little more vehemence than strictly necessary, and it collapsed, squirting juice into my face.

“Nope, you’re wrong. Guess again, Artie.”

“AR-THUR, Lloyd, my name is Arthur, now move before I cram your head into this bottle instead of the lime wedge.”

“Not going to leave you alone til you guess my name, Artie.”

I stared at him. “Beelzebub,” I said.

“Nope, guess again.”

Fuck off, Lloyd.


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