Dead End Job Read Online Free PDF Page B

stopping by and filling up my water. I think he assumed that my date had taken off and was making sure I didn’t skip out as well without taking care of the substantial bar tab. Feeling fidgety and uncomfortable, I pulled out my phone again to see if I had gotten a response back from Alex. Nope. It was only seven-thirty, so I guessed she was out on one of her twenty-plus mile daily bike rides. Damn it! What is going on with this guy?
    When Jonah emerged from the men’s room and began approaching the bar a few minutes later, I got my answer. He was not only really twitchy but had seemed to have developed a full-blown head cold over the last few minutes. His eyes were red and watering and he had a mean case of the sniffles. I would’ve asked him if he was feeling all right had I not noticed when he sat back down that there was a substantial, crusty, white cocaine booger precariously lodged in the inside of his left nostril.
    “How’s it going over here sexy lady?” The booger quivered violently as he spoke, threatening to evacuate his nose and land in a gooey mess on the bar. I shuddered, planning my escape route.
    “Fine,” I lied. The truth was that I was shocked and pissed off with a dozen questions running through my mind. The first one being: Seriously? Jesus, it’s Tuesday night! The second was : Who even does cocaine on a Tuesday? Then my mind started racing— On a first date? Who really does cocaine anymore anyways? I mean, I know what the stuff is, but isn’t it kind of 1985? Then — wait a second, is this guy really a junkie or something, or is this date going so badly that he thinks he has to get high just to have a conversation with me over a glass of wine? Oh God. I am such a loser!
    I started to panic, knowing that I would have to make a decision on how this thing was going to go down. Should I storm out? Make an excuse? Confront him? Pretend that I don’t notice? While I was in the midst of this personal crisis, cokehead Jonah was smiling at me goofily. He picked up his glass and gulped the last of his whiskey-soaked ice chips.
    Oh man, this guy was drunk, sweaty and was high as hell. He was still smiling, but now also gnashing his jaw, uncontrollably chewing on his tongue and lips. Weird . It looked like he was having some sort of strange seizure. Not that he gave a crap –he was completely oblivious to the situation, and furthermore, he seemed to be having a good enough time that he wanted to stick around. He got up from his barstool and leaned in next to my face, running his hand up and down my back. I could smell the acrid mix of coke, whiskey and red wine on his breath. 
    “Hey there beautiful!” he oozed. “I’m going to go outside for a quick smoke. Want another round?” Without waiting for the response he walked towards the door, snapping to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey buddy, another round over here.” Then to me, “Be right back, Pumpkin.”
    I made sure he was gone, then jumped into action. I stood up, grabbed my purse and coat, plunked a couple of $20s down on the bar and slowly started walking towards the ladies’ room. I thought about waiting around and cancelling our next round of wine, but I didn’t want to take the chance that Jonah would re-appear while I was trying to get the bartender’s attention. Plus, he could just stick it in the fridge and serve it to the next person. Pinot grigio sells quickly, I reasoned. Now I could justify what I was about to do, which was to run away from a date. Instead of taking a left into the ladies’ room, I quickly walked down the server hallway next to the food window and straight out the back door into the alley.
    By the time I got to what I deemed a safe distance from the scene of the bad date, I had broken a sweat in my new dress. I felt like a wussy for running away, had a slight buzz on, and was on the verge of some kind of emotional outburst, but my body couldn’t decide if it was going to be laughter or tears.  I