January 2008:

I woke that next morning, alone. Used condoms on the floor, feeling like I had the shit beaten out of me. My solution? A a vodka red bull, a percocet, and a shower before my morning job slinging sandwiches. It was 7am, and making it until 2pm wasn’t that hard because there was a bar across the parking lot from work where I could go on my break. Most days I had a few shots with one of my coworkers along with a joint. Hell, sandwiches weren’t hard to make and we had charted with pictures if we were too hammered to remember on our own.

stock-footage-substance-abuse-pan-shot-of-pills-and-alcohol-out-of-focus-man-in-backgroundAs stoners we seemed to have a great sense of how to make an awesome sandwich, a little extra sauce and extra slice of cheese. It was whatever, rules weren’t important. Our performance as workers wasn’t affected at all. In fact, I was always on time and given some of the responsibilities of my manager who I often would go in early for. She’d often text or call me saying she was still drunk from the night before and couldn’t find her panties. If I go in early and open for her, she’d grab a bottle of vodka to make up for it. (Man, was I a sucker for that shit.)

About two months after I became a sandwich slinging pot head, I was able to add my second job as a sales associate to that pile. I was fucking miserable in that particular retail job because I had to think. I took on everything that everyone else around me didn’t do. I felt like I was on top of things because I had the energy and eventually the skill to take care of any given department in the store. I just couldn’t drink. I could perform what I needed to high. I was okay with that because as soon as I got out I could go straight to the bar and see what my friends were up to. Somewhere I picked up a job as a cocktail waitress at my home bar, and a hostess job in a restaurant on Sundays. I don’t know much about how I gained that hostess job, I only knew I had to be there. Six days a week I worked 2 jobs, and three days a week I worked 3 jobs.

My boyfriend “Jim” was an alcoholic too, but had more money even after child support to his wife. He’d pick up whatever it was that I needed in between my pay checks. I paid all of the bills, I made cash nightly and was building a rapport with some of the regulars in the club. I was getting burnt out and looking for another rush, and I knew just how to get it, sex.

I did work in a club after all, and we weren’t required at the time to follow a dress code. I used that to my advantage. I had a gorgeous face, and could work circles around the other waitresses. I made more tips than most, I was on top of playing the game, and I knew how to milk it. I even used the “I’m a single mother of 5 just trying to make it.” crutch. It didn’t bother me to leave out that they were 16 hours away with their father who took care of them by himself. I loved the attention because I wasn’t getting any at home anymore. He was busy with the 17 year old next door during the one week of the month he was home from the oil fields. It was no matter, I had like 6 other boy toys if ever I needed some ”love”.