The next shift

Fucking bachelorette parties, Oliver muttered curses under his breath as he dipped beneath the bar, but rising with a smile he was the picture of enthusiasm. It was all hands on deck with Oliver, Simon, Julie, and even Mike the manager slinging drinks. There was no coy flirting from Simon tonight, they were too busy surfing a tsunami of green tea shots for the horde of screaming women. But the drunken antics of women sending a friend off to holy matrimony was lucrative business, the tip jar stuffed to the brim with small bills and the occasional twenty.

When it was all over, the crew of the Madhouse all sat at the bar as Simon poured them whiskeys to unwind. As the pretty twink Carlos took a small sip and made a face, Mike, the burly manager, chortled and slammed back his own. Oliver made eye contact with Julie, and the two giggled as Mike began to explain “peatiness” and why it was a good thing when whiskey tasted like dirt. Simon joined in on Carlos’ side as Oliver and Julie sipped their glasses. Mike grabbed Simon and Carlos and disappeared to the back ranting, about a special reserve small cask bottle he had in the back.

Oliver sat in companionable silence with Julie, his body aching from the hectic shift. He had always liked Julie, and they got on well as coworkers. She was at least a decade older than him, early thirties with an undercut and an expression that told of many years tending bar at dives. Oliver knew she powerlifted as a hobby, and her tattooed body was rippling with muscle. Diaine looked up at Oliver, “I fucking hate bachelorette parties.” Oliver chuckled and clinked his glass to hers, “preach, if they didn’t tip so well, I’d say we turn them back at the door.”

Oliver thought for a second, staring into his whiskey, “Julie… sorry if this is too personal a question, but how did you know you were queer?” Julie was proudly pansexual but tended towards femme types. About a month ago she had been broken up with by her cis lesbian partner Helen of three years. Julie had bought the ring and everything, but Helen had gotten cold feet and run off with her pottery instructor.

Julie thought hard on the question. “I guess I always knew, when I was your age, it wasn’t as acceptable, even in cities like this. I made some hard choices to be true to myself, my folks haven’t talked to me in probably ten years now… but I refuse to apologize for who I am or who I fall in love with.” Julie drained her whiskey- “or fuck.” Shooting a calculating look at Oliver, she smiled “but self-proclaimed straight boys tend not to ask that question unless they’ve been having some internal struggles of their own, no?”

Oliver blushed at how transparent he’d been and explained the events of the last few days. How he’d done things that last week would have been outside the pale, but how now there wasn’t much question that he wasn’t heterosexual. Julie comforted her younger coworker, explaining that people can come out in their own time, or never at all, and that what was important wasn’t a label but being ok with yourself.

“Thanks Julie, I knew you’d be a sage and wizened elder to seek advice from” Oliver teased. “You fucking watch it Ollie, I’m only thirty one for fucks sake” came the exasperated reply. Oliver looked at Julie and said “I know I know, but in all seriousness thank you. It feels like a lot all at once.” Julie smiled gently at Oliver “Ollie did I ever tell you how naïve I felt the time I paid a dominatrix with a lollipop and got robbed?” Oliver looked at her confused and shook his head. Stone-faced, Julie continued “yeah, guess you could say she pegged me for a sucker.” Oliver groaned through his laughter “you motherfucker” he wheezed. “Had me in the first half.”

A sudden crash in the back snapped them out of their mirth and glancing at each other rushed to Mike’s office to see if their coworkers were ok.