3 AM

“Desiree honey, I’m not sure where your dog went. I’ve been calling her for the last 15 minutes and she hasn’t come back from the woods.”

“Dad I said to mention treats when calling her in, try that, I’m sure she’ll come. I’m in a rush to get to work though Dad, the line at the DMV was awful and—“

“Okay but which treats do I feed her then because I know her tummy-“

"Dad! I have to go, feed her whatever, I’ll talk to you later, bye!”

“Okay sweetie I love—"

Living at home as a 30 year old has been a nightmare. I am extremely thankful that I have parents willing to take my struggling ass back in, but it’s not exactly ideal for any of us, including my dog Sasha. My Dad has been super anal about everything involving her. At first he was highly against having a dog in his house, but he came to once they started a bond, that honestly may beat ours at this point considering how much time I spend away from her while I'm at work. I’m sure she’d forgive me if she knew I was only working this hard to give her a backyard where she doesn’t have a time limit to roam free. She’s a husky after all, and needs more than the 10 minutes she’s allowed to potty and come back in at my parents. My mom is deathly afraid of fleas and ticks, which is understandable considering the government more than likely released this past summer’s infestation, but that’s another story.

I turn off my car with a rattle from the copious amounts keychains that I was gifted to by my friends from their many out of country adventures. Just another reminder that I’m stuck in this money pit while my peers seem stable enough to enjoy their existence. Looking at my worn down and tacky brick hell of a work building, I made the daily promise that one day I will be the one gifting the key chains. For now I must bare the wrath of happy hour.

I open the sun visor mirror and grudgingly look at the mess this life style has created. My dark hair, that was even darker from the grease that I don’t even bother to maintain anymore, was sticking to my large pored cheeks in a weird way so I shoved those pieces aside, fixed my messy bun, stared at the bags under my poop brown eyes, as well as the puffiness that hid my previously decent jawline, and let out a big dramatic sigh. It was time to give way to the clock that struck 3 PM. I wish it read as AM already.

I raced across the street feeling the fabric of my now tight jeans rub against my growing pouch. Irritated, I swung the door open and put on my game face. Time to flirt my way to freedom. Katie, the other bartender scheduled for tonight, was clearly in a mood I did not want to poke at. I gave her a wry smile, then set my stuff under the bar. Our regulars should be arriving in 3,2,—

“Ayyyyy!” Ronald obnoxiously yelled as he entered his after work kingdom

I popped open a can of PBR before he even chose a seat. Ronald was a thickly wrinkled man for his age of who knows what. Whatever it was, he didn’t act like it. He may be worse than the 21 year olds we get in here. Luckily he would get drunk enough to where he couldn’t do math and always left a bigger tip than sober him expected to see missing from his wallet in the morning. He’d slam a big bill down around 8pm like it was clockwork, then head home to be someone else's problem. I wished it was 8 already. Until then, I must suffer his inappropriate compliments.

Around 4:30 the door opened numerous times with the pull of countless other grubby handed men. By then we had the football game ready on the TV, and the divorced dad rock blaring just enough that it funneled out their regular talking voices. It wouldn’t be long until their game rage would out-sound it though. The game started at 6pm, and although loud, I was thankful that they were preoccupied enough that all I had to do was recap their drinks without conversation.

Just as I settled in to my robotic routine, some newcomers decided make an appearance. Fresh meat, fresh tips. I served them kindly with their prissy martini’s, then endured a fail on the field.

“What was that call?! You can’t be serious!!!” Ronald exclaimed

“I swear that better be the last call he ever makes, worst referee in the NFL, mother fucker needs to go!” another blue collared worker yelled confidently, even though he was clearly just upset his team sucks and was finding an excuse for their dirty play.

The others agreed. Around 7:45, which was earlier than I expected (Thank God), Ronald and his minions cleared out. It was time for a break. Katie bared the bar alone as I stepped outside. It was a chilly night so as soon as I lit my cigarette my left hand went in to my grey washed jean jacket’s pocket. I inhaled the tar, and exhaled the time. I. Need.it. To. Be. 3am. Already. This shift was dragging, and the lack of sleep I’ve been getting from being here all the time was catching up to me in a major way. I wanted my break to be longer, so I took out another cancer stick, and then my left hand went back out of the cold and in to my pocket again. This time I acknowledged my phone that was in that pocket as well. It was doing a light buzz that I did not feel before because of the multiple layers I was wearing and my eagerness for the nicotine. I’d say the layers were for warmth, but they were mostly to hide the pouch.

After lighting the few extra minutes of peace, I looked at my phone. 8:15 shined in bold numbers, and I was instantly annoyed that it had only been that short amount of time. Under the numbers was numerous notifications from my mom, including 5 calls and 1 text. The text read “call me when you can” .. no shit Sherlock. That time was not now, so I shoved my shit back in my pockets, and opened the door to more chaos than what was there when I closed it, great.

I noticed the new crowd grew bigger. Their numerous drink glasses were scattered all over the bar and tables. I cleaned up, and entertained them the best my millennial self could. They made it blatantly obvious that they were of the younger crew who would be staying until my dear 2:30am, when we shoved everyone out. Lovely. As the drinks were flowing, I could tell they weren't exactly ones to handle their alcohol well. In their amateur ways, they slurred big opinions and wrong “facts”. The girls of the group gossiped about the other girls in the group and fought over the supposed alpha of the omega or whatever. I was annoyed.

To their angry dismay, I took over the music and played Tik Tok by Kesha to one, give my ears a break from their singing, and two, because I simply needed a laugh. TikTok on the clock indeed. It was 1 am, we were on the home stretch. I can do this, I can do this. The young crew were the only ones left, their bodies were still doubling.. and now tumbling. Many held on to the sticky walls for support, or leaned on them to look cool. The girls broke their seal and continued to make bathroom trips together, leaving the boys a bit too long- from taking selfies no doubt- thus, the boys would wobble themselves down the stairs to wait for their potential lays.

One guy in particular, the alpha as mentioned before, was on another level. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left without paying at all. Good thing I had his card, I’d still get paid at least 20% of his giant bill. Thanks,.. let me look, ah yes, Chad. Chad stumbled to the top of the stairs that he had to go down in order to reach his victims. I saw him hesitate, probably for the best considering a fall was bound to happen, and I really didn’t want to deal with an ambulance tonight. I was mistaken by why he hesitated though. I for once was thankful to hear their choice of Drake blasting on the stereos so I didn’t have to hear the sounds of the sight.

Chad spewed his bill all the way down the wooden steps. I missed Ronald in that moment, Ronald would never. His friends eagerly helped him to the exit, knowing they were now also done for the night. They left the girls stranded at the bottom of the stomach acid trail with no pathway up. Katie and I whisked over with disgust ridden all over our faces. We looked down at the rancid fuming mess and saw one of the girls at the bottom run to make a similar one, but luckily getting a touchdown in the toilet. We began to clean Chad’s insides as much as we could. The girls came back up, clearly embarrassed that, that was the guy they were fighting over. They respectfully paid their bill, leaving their tips & their dignity at the bar before they moseyed on out.

Oh how I wish I was the one walking out that door. I rushed back to tend the bar as Katie cleaned up what we cleaned with. There was still a good amount of customers lingering, now all having the same conversation. Soon enough it was time to play my favorite song and say my favorite words. I stopped requests and blasted “Closing Time” by Semisonic, on the speakers.

“LAST CALL!!!! IF YOU WANT A DRINK THIS IS THE LAST CALL!! OTHERWISE PAY YOUR BILL PLEASE, AND TIP YOUR HOT BARTENDERS!!! WE CLOSE IN 30 MINUTES, AGAIN, LAST CALL!!!!”

The way tonight went, I should have been meaner with my choice of words. Only a few got one more round, but they impressively chugged them down. Soon enough the last of the uneven footsteps were heard leaving, and it was time to count and divide tips. Katie and I actually did pretty well. Mostly thanks to Ronald and the remorseful girls.

With a quick sweep and wipe of my second home, Katie and I locked up for the night, ready to reach the void that unfortunately just brought us back here sooner than later. I got in to my beat up 1996 Honda CR-V, jangled my keys, and let my car warm itself and I up. While waiting, I checked my phone. There was now 20 missed calls from my mom, the most recent being only 30 minutes ago, what was she doing up at 3am?!

I thought maybe Sasha never came back, and she was fed up looking for her. Panic did strike me considering that dog was my fur baby angel chicken child, and I can not, especially in these living circumstances, live without her.What if she got hit by a car while running away from my Dad's desperate calls?! Fuck.

I pressed the call back button as fast as I could. My mom picked up in one ring, clearly frantic, yet trying to keep it together at the same time.

“Desiree, finally, honey, I-I, I—" she said

“Mom what the hell is going on?!” I asked urgently

“D-Desiree get home as soon as you can, something happened.”

“MOM! What something?! Tell me now! I’m about to head out as soon as we hang up, but my phone doesn’t connect to my car, and you know I wouldn't be able to hear you over the motor on this thing "

“Okay, um, yeah- uh” she started to sob

“I’d really like to tell you in person”

“MOM!! Is it Sasha?! Is she okay? Did she come back??”

“Sasha is fine…your Dad is not.”

“What? What do you mean?? What happened to Dad? You’re scaring me mom” I chocked out as my heart beat ran faster than Sasha could

There was a long pause, but the silence itself screamed the answer.

“Honey, your father is dead." She put it bluntly so her daughter's mind would comprehend it clearer, but that didn’t seem to work.

“What do you mean he’s dead? Mom, what the fuck? This is not funny.”

“Desiree I would not joke about this. Sasha wouldn’t come back earlier, even for the treats we had. She did show up but she kept playing games with your father, so your father last minute went to the pet store to pick up some better ones. He- he didn’t make it home. Desiree— he died on the scene. A drunk driver hit him head on. He’s gone. Oh my sweet baby girl, I am so so sorry. Please make it home safe. The whole family is here now, we’ve been waiting for you.”

“Mom-om-my, no no no no this can’t be happening. Not Dad, not my Daddy. Not because of my dog. No, no, nope. I’m headed home now, I have to hang up. It’ll all be fine, it’s all gonna be okay. Right Mom, right?”

“Get home safe Desiree, I love you. I will see you soon.”

It was not okay. She was right, he was not fine. Sasha was, so I hugged her when I got home to the full house, but as I pulled away from it, I looked at her with disdain and then looked up around the room in to all the eyes that now had pain in them. All because of her stubbornness. This is my fault isn’t it? It was my dog he was trying to get in, it’s my pathetic 30 year old self moving back in with my parents that did it. It's all my fault. I- I killed my Dad.

A week passed with that mindset, and suddenly I was at his funeral. The news still didn't settle in my brain even once I saw his corpse looking as at peace as the morticians could fake it to be for him. It was not until then that I wondered who his actual killer was. I couldn’t handle taking the blame any longer. I guess I should find out if the drunk driver died too. One can only hope.

The mourning bunch congregated in to a room full of food that most of us couldn't even stomach at that moment. I went up to my Uncle Ricky, who is my Dad’s brother. He’s gotta know.

“Hey Uncle Ricky”

“Oh Hey kiddo” he said with a grim smile on his face as he gave me a strong side hug

“Hi um, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

“Do you know who the drunk driver was that hit my dad and if he survived or not?”

“Oh, I thought someone would have told you this by now, uh, yeah I do.”

“I never cared to ask until now, who was it?”

“Some typical middle aged drunk guy. Exactly what you would picture. He did survive unfortunately, that fucking bastard.”

“What is his name?”

“Ronald I think? Ronald Peterson if I remember correctly. He…..”

Uncle Ricky continued to trail on about the man as my mind trailed to the truth I had tried to rid of.

The drunk driver was a man I served alcohol to every single day. I brewed this disaster, I concocted my own father’s death, and worst of all, I didn’t say I love you during our last call ever because I was in a rush to create his demise. I didn’t even let him finish saying it to me, and now I’ll never hear it from him again. All I cared about was 3am, and now he's dead.