Free The Billionaire Bum by Samantha Blair

Wendy’s a few blocks up to use the men’s room. I felt surprisingly rested, and I was looking forward to my first shift as a bartender.
    “Romeo returns,” Buddy said, when I walked through the door. “Welcome to your first official day.” He threw me a T-shirt with the name of the bar across the back. “Put that on. I’ll expect you to wear it every time you work.”
    “Yes, sir,” I smiled. Not only did I get a job, but it came with free clothes!
    “Cut that ‘sir’ shit out,” he said. “Tonight you are working with Jessica.” He pointed to the young blond behind the bar. “She’ll help you get started. Jessica, meet Jackson.” She looked up from behind the bar and flashed me a smile. I knew that smile. I had seen it on hundreds of women before, right before they threw themselves at me . I wonder if I can convince her that I’m gay? It was going to be a long night.
    “Jessica,” I said politely, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

    “You, too,” she said, and then she giggled. God, what an awful laugh. “So, Jackson,” she purred as she leaned forward on the bar, showing off far more cleavage than I really had a desire to see, “it’s your first night?”
    Really? What tipped you off? “Yeah,” I said lamely, restraining myself from making a rude comment.
    “Great, we are going to have so much fun!” She laughed again, but then, thankfully made herself useful by showing me where everything was. The place was moderately crowded. A few people were sitting at the bar, drinking after work, and a few were at the tables finishing up late dinners. Jessica was also acting as a waitress tonight, so she left frequently to check on her tables while I manned the bar. So far, I thought I was doing pretty well, but it was mostly requests for beer. I hadn’t gotten any difficult drinks.
    Truthfully, it was kind of boring. I don’t know what I expected at 10:00 on a Thursday night, but I had hoped for a better crowd and better tips. About 10:15 a man and a woman sat at the bar and requested menus, so I got to take my first food order. Jessica showed me how to enter it in the computer and how to get the food when it was ready. That was good; food orders meant bigger tips.
    By midnight I’d made less than $40 and was ready to quit this shitty job. Jessica was grating on my very last nerve, Buddy hadn’t re-appeared all night, and there was no way that anyone could live on this kind of a salary.
    That’s when my saving grace walked in the door. A group of five giggling girls in halter tops and short skirts, which were really quite inappropriate for the weather, sat down at the bar.
    They announced that it was the blond in the middle’s twenty-first birthday, and they’d come out at midnight so that she could exercise her new right to drink. I carded them, gave them my best smile, and prepared to make a killing.
    I had never worked so hard in my life. I made Flaming Dr. Peppers, Hot Caramel Apples, Red Headed Sluts, and even a Blow Job for the birthday girl. I took pictures of them with their cameras, I posed with them in pictures, and I learned how to use a blender.
    A group of guys about the same age joined them around 12:30, and I suddenly had a whole new set of shots and drinks to learn. These were easier and more expensive. About half way through the second set of Irish Car Bombs I wondered what else I had neglected to learn in college. I had a great time, and so did they.
    The whole party stumbled out of the bar just before 2 a.m., and I started my clean-up. I was starving, exhausted, and I smelled like a bar, but I had earned every damn penny of the $152
    I made. Buddy showed up to take my register and count it while I was cleaning up. Jessica gave him a positive progress report on me, and he smirked at me knowingly.
    I left around 2:30 and set off to find a 24-hour diner or pizza place. I wanted the greasiest food I could find. Tom’s Diner didn’t disappoint. I had a burger and onion rings