sandandwater

Rock beats scissors, scissors trump paper, paper conquers rock and seven days in some psycho’s keep wipes out twenty-six years of living. Pippa snorted as she played with the things on her desk. If she were to be fair (Fair? What about this has been fair?) it was more accurate to say that seven days destroyed seven years. That’s how long she’d been working at the person she was until recently.

Cut the paper in two with the scissors and watch it slip off the rock.

Seven years of being her own person, doing what she liked and not answering to anyone. Making glass, working in a bar, living on her own—the things she wanted for herself and a life she had taken pride in living. Well, the glass was gone; she shattered it all in a fit of rage and frustration. She couldn’t make any more of it, not now. Pippa refused to try again after that first failed attempt. And now she wasn’t even working at the bar.

Wedge the tips of the scissors under the rock and flip the piece of obsidian into the trash can.

When she had asked Mike, her boss and the bar’s owner, if they could talk, he didn’t seem the least bit surprised when she expressed feelings of unease and disquiet about being back at Last Call. He didn’t even seem phased when she sighed and admitted with some hesitation that she didn’t think she’d be back after her upcoming vacation. It was too hard. Too much of what happened occurred here and since then too much else had changed. Mike hugged her, told her he understood and made her promise to stay in touch. If she ever needed anything…call him.

Twirl the scissors around an index finger before dropping them into a drawer.

Quitting had been easier than she’d thought. It was also less climatic than one would assume. There was no sense of elation or even regret. She was indifferent, if anything. Leaving the bar hadn’t solved anything for her. Maybe it wasn’t a big enough change or maybe she was becoming impatient with the status quo that her life had become these last few months. Maybe she should make the harder choices now, the ones with the real consequences.

This wasn’t a childish game she was playing.

Pippa Kerr//389

We have been taste testing Jones Sodas at work tonight. I think I am going to be seriously ill. Candy Cane flavored soda...there are no words for how vile. Double plus ungood might come close.

Of course it is better than the year we all drank the Turkey Gravy flavored stuff.

I am not feeling tonight's band. The drummer has...issues. With counting. I miss Kreske.

This is Mike, owner of Last Call. And well, me. Yes, it is currently quite cold outside but Mike will wear shorts unless there is snow on the ground and he just turns the thermostat up to compensate. In other words, during the day, Last Call is roughly the same temperature as one of my furnaces. I keep this in mind when stopping by there for things.

I was there to take care of some paperwork and talk about being put back on the schedule a few nights a week. Mike was happy to see me, less happy with Rory. Well, no. Not true. He's thrilled for the band of course, he just hates that he no longer has the best band in NYC as a regular gig for his bar. I guess last Wednesday was absolutely dismal in terms of both the door take and drink sales.

But! This has caused me endless amusement:



Mike finally got Last Call in the NYC Safe Sex program (there is only one other bar on Staten that participates) and they installed the free condom dispenser in the oddest place. Right over a trash can. The trash will be moving, but in the meantime...



I decorated it. He fired me. I was hired back five minutes later.



And later, Mike tried to bribe us with giant beer. (You can tell it's later because I have a sweater on) See, those are our cell phones next to the glasses to demonstrate how large those suckers are. And no, customers cannot order those behemoths, they are gag glasses that Mike used because he loves me and Ro. The bribe did not work, maybe because I stole Ro's Guinness and left him with the Miller's. Mmm, well we are going to the Halloween party in costume, so I suppose it did work.

Ro and I took Mr. Beaker to the park earlier today and wore my dear puppy dog out. He doesn't quite have the concept of down yet, but he'll chase anything you throw for him. I guess it's a good thing both Ro and I are pretty good with a Frisbee. We ended up playing more of a 'monkey in the middle' game with Mr. Beaker than anything else.

When I left for work Mr. Beaker was fast asleep and sleeping quite hard in the middle of the living room floor. Frisbee tucked under his chin. He's just the most adorable thing ever. Love my puppy.

Now I'm listening to Breaker Street's Saturday night sound check and warm up. I'm crushed. You'd think for his biggest fan, Rory Stone would take requests but he just won't do it. I even asked politely. Sweetly. And gave him several options to choose from.*

It's going to be a good night, the band looks great, sounds better and I just won a 'who can stuff more cherries into their mouths' contest with the other waitresses. Don't ask, we're just being silly and completely juvenile tonight. The bartenders had to pony up ten bucks each for the tip jar for that one.

I should really go take the bottled water over to the stage and finish setting up so I can open the front doors.

I think I'm calling in and begging off work tonight. I'm so utterly exhausted. I have been working nights for the last two weeks straight and frankly, last night was the nail in my little waitressing coffin. Packed house, filled to capacity and then some, which while I know if technically against the rules, can I help it if people kept milling around inside and out of Last Call, coming in to have a drink or two and then meandering back outside because they could still hear the band from the patio?

I love that Breaker Street has such a huge local fan base but there are times that I really wish they weren't so enthusiastic. I was elbowed, shoved, stepped on and just generally knocked around more last night than I have ever been. It's amazing that I didn't spill anything on people. And Mike wonders why I resort of walking across table tops and the bar at times.

And so help me, if I have to resort to slapping a giant "He's Taken" sticker on Ro's forehead, I will. I don't even want to tell you how many times I was asked if I knew his phone number, if he had a girlfriend (or boyfriend in a couple of instances) and oh, a whole host of appalling questions I'm not even willing to repeat.

Though Ro, you might want to tell Kreske that there's a very persistent brunette who reeeeeeeeeeally would like a moment of his time. I have her name and number if he's interested. (I might hold it for ransom if he is)

It's official: I'm not going into work tonight. I'm going to run myself a hot bath, find a good book and gorge myself on fresh fruit and white wine. Then I'm going to bed and ignoring the world until some time tomorrow afternoon.

Hello, I'm Pippa Kerr. If you're into the nightlife on Staten Island (and anyone in Manhattan making snide remarks, kindly keep them to yourselves, please) you've probably seen me or at least know of the bar I wait tables at most nights. Last Call. Live music five nights a week, karaoke and open mic nights on alternating Fridays. Wednesdays and Saturdays are the best nights though. My personal favorites play then: Breaker Street.

I talk about them a lot, I do. But I do it with good reason, they are amazing. And really, Last Call is great. Good crowds, good service, the drinks are never watered down. And me, I'm there to be your waitress.

I suppose I should tell you a little bit more about myself. I'm a native New Yorker, I actually love living on Staten though that is not where I grew up. I have a puppy named Mr. Beaker who is just adorable and I like riding pillion when my boyfriend has his motorcycle.

Oh, and I blow glass in my spare time.

They didn’t want her on the busiest nights at the bar and she begged off on one of their slower nights, leaving Pippa to her own devices several nights in a row. Part of her felt bad for the passive aggressive behavior but the part of her that was still stinging from what she considered a personal attack believed she was entirely justified in committing the small act of subterfuge. If she wasn’t at Last Call tonight, hadn’t been the night before and wouldn’t be for the next few days…well, the red haired woman knew that things would slowly come undone.

She didn’t like knowing that she was intentionally causing havoc at the bar she dearly loved or that she was going to give Mike, the owner, one hell of a headache to sort out. But she also refused to be treated in such a demeaning manner and then turn around and meekly continue to ensure that the business ran smoothly. She was so much more than just a waitress there. The nights she worked, Pippa generally ran the place from open to close. She handled all the paper work, dealt with the talent (all of the talent, not just her boyfriend’s band), made certain that stock never ran low or went unordered. She kept in contact with all the vendors they used and made sure Last Call was in good standing with them all.

If she wasn’t there, she knew by and large all of these things would be left undone. Some because the other waitresses never stopped to consider all the extra work Pippa did and what it actually takes to run a busy little night spot and the rest simply because Kelly didn’t have the business savvy or the people skills to fill Pippa’s shoes. And then there were the customers. Pippa made serving drinks look easy. She rarely wrote an order down and even more rarely did she get an order wrong. She remembered the names of regulars, let them run a tab, recalled their preferred drinks and ordering habits. She treated them like friends, not just patrons with cash.

All of these things ran through her head as she got dressed, fixed her hair, made herself up. She was going out tonight; into the city proper. Manhattan. Breaker Street had a gig at a larger venue for a change and she intended to show up not only to support their efforts but because she genuinely missed hearing them play live. , she smiled to herself as she applied another layer of lipgloss, Maybe she’d be able to persuade him to come home with her tonight.

Pippa gave a self-conscious laugh at the notion. Rory Stone, leader of the band, was her boyfriend. Her significant other. . If she wanted to flirt with him and play the part of adoring girlfriend for the night instead of simply helpful barmaid, that was her prerogative, wasn’t it? And there was certainly no cause for the nervousness she felt, she knew Ro and the rest of the band would be happy to see her. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

Still, she knew she was blushing as she took the ferry across the water. Butterflies danced in her belly during the short cab ride into the trendy part of town. She had to concentrate to subdue a slight tremble once in the club, her hand stamped as proof that she was old enough to drink. Unhindered by the need to wait on people, Pippa circulated through the crowd a bit aimlessly, lips twitching with a secretive smile as she caught the tell-tale signs of the band running a final sound check. Hopefully she’d be able to find a spot near the stage once they began to play. She was here to listen, not necessarily dance.

She had toyed with keeping her presence unknown for the time being but as soon as she caught sight of Rory, his back to the crowd, adjusting the strings of his guitar, and heard him laughing at something Morrie was saying, she gave up the idea.

“So, I heard this was amateur night. You guys any good?” The look on her face was all innocence as Ro turned around to look for the owner of a voice he knew very well. “Hi, Ro.”

It’s half past eight and Pippa’s going through the motions of opening Last Call for business. It’s a routine she can perform mostly by rote: sweep the floors, take the chairs down from the tables, wipe off the bar and the table tops, deal with petty cash for the register…let the band in the back door when they arrive. The band. Breaker Street. Rory. .

She closes her eyes and forces herself to take a deep, calming breath. Normally, she loves Wednesdays. Loves being the only one here as they set up the stage with their instruments, tune up. She usually helps Morrie run the sound check. Chats with the band and gazes longingly at Ro whenever he’s not looking at her. But tonight—

The red haired woman has a feeling that tonight’s going to be different. She hasn’t seen Ro since their phone call revelations and she’s counting on (hoping, really) him keeping his word about kissing her. She’s even gone so far as to dress a bit nicer this evening. A simple baby doll smock with capped sleeves and jeans. Her usual funky collection of jewelry. Heeled shoes that give her considerably more height, taking into account Rory’s tall, lanky frame.

She hears the solid cadence against the metal fire exit doors. That’d be Kreske, the drummer tatting out some ridiculous rhythm instead of just knocking. …Pippa smooths a hand over her riot of curls and hurries across the bar to let them in. She tucks her blistered and bandaged hand behind her back as she uses her free arm to brace the door open. “Hey, guys…”