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

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.