Dead End Job Read Online Free PDF

guffawed loudly, sliding his hand up into my hair and mussing it roughly before he sat back down on his barstool, head tilted to the side, mouth agape in a goofy smile, waiting for my response.
    “Uh. Hey there, I’m doing fine, thanks. How was your trip to the bathroom?”
    “Fantastic! I hope you want to party tonight, because it’s ON. High-five!” He held up his hand, waiting for me to slap it.
    “Yeah.” I slapped his hand a little more lukewarmly then I’d intended to, so I tried to fix it by giving him an encouraging smile. I was feeling a bit trepidatious about Jonah’s sudden personality swing from respectful, romantic first date guy to wild, fraternity party boy, but I tried to remind myself that this was what I’d signed up for when I noticed his profile. While I didn’t really think that we were in “party down” mode, I’d been wrong before, and at least it was obvious that Jonah was having a good time. I made a quick decision to just go with the flow and try to have some fun. “Should we get another drink?” I asked, smiling.
    “Most definitely,” Jonah smiled and put his hand back on my knee. “I know! Let’s do some shots! Do you like Jagermeister?”
    “Oh. Well,” I faltered, struggling for a graceful out. I most definitely did not like Jagermeister. “I like it OK,” I lied, “but I don’t usually do shots during the week, you know, with work and all. Do you mind if I just have another glass of wine instead?”
    “That’s cool. Hey bartender! Bartender! Can we get some drinks over here?”
    I cringed as Jonah casually committed the cardinal sin of yelling and snapping his fingers at a member of the wait staff. As the bartender slowly approached us with an air of barely masked disdain, I stared down at my napkin in horror.
    “Another wine for this lovely lady, and I’ll have a whiskey Coke please.” 
    At this moment I was getting the feeling that there was a small possibility that the date was close to completely falling off of a cliff. Jonah’s buzz, while undeniably upbeat, was absolutely not sexy. In fact, the way he was acting had created a certain dryness down in my lady bits that I could only compare to a mid-summer’s day in the Gobi desert. I felt certain that not only would we not be going home together, but that we would probably never see each other again after tonight if the date continued down this particularly boozy path.
    While the bartender poured our drinks I tried to catch his eye so I could mouth the words “I’m sorry” while Jonah wasn’t looking.
    Jonah’s whiskey coke went down even faster than his previous glasses of wine. The whiskey seemed to do its job, and within twenty minutes, Jonah had officially veered away from serious buzz territory and was heading straight into fall down drunk land. He was now talking excitedly about the Seahawks upcoming season, but I couldn’t really follow as I was trying to avoid getting sprayed by the flecks of saliva shooting out of his mouth and onto my face, boobs and hands. As he swayed in his barstool the warning bells going off in my head were dinging and donging at a deafening volume. Things would have been better if we were actually eating dinner, as promised, but to my dismay Jonah hadn’t touched the menu, which was becoming a huge problem for me. Because I hadn’t eaten a snack after the gym, my hunger was quickly moving into the desperate state that I like to call “hanger” (obviously an excruciating combination of hunger combined with irrational anger). When I suggested that we order appetizers, Jonah half-heartedly scanned the menu, and then seemed to forget about it. Then, quite abruptly, he excused himself to the men’s room again.
    Geez , I thought, this guy either has the runs or the smallest bladder in the world . I sat at the bar by myself, sipping my second glass of pinot grigio, and waited for him. Five minutes went by, then ten. The bartender was eyeing me suspiciously. He kept