Nobody under 18. Names changed to protect the guilty. Hell, this took place 40 years ago. They're probably all gone by now. Only live on in my fond memories. In "loving wives" section. Two loving wives, but not loving their husbands! Sorta. Please remember to keep tongue firmly in cheek, keep all hands and feet in during the ride. This tale took place a long time ago in a faraway place called Pennsylvania. Things were not the same as they are now.
Best Tip Ever
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Back then, at age eighteen, you were allowed to work in bars and restaurants and even allowed to serve alcoholic beverages. The fines the PLCB (Penna Liquor Control Board) could levy for underage drinking were astronomical and most bars just hired someone twenty-one or older for bartender or servers. It was not illegal to have an eighteen-year-old working there... it was just easier to have someone over twenty-one.
But there I was mixing drinks and tapping beer and running tabs on ten tables and about twenty single folks because poor Ronny's appendix burst. Ronny was the regular bartender. Looks like he was gonna be out of commission for a bit. I was planning on finishing my German and English homework, but the boss flashed some cash, so here I am slapping drinks and spilling beer. Homework could wait till after the shift. Money still talks.
I was in a white dress shirt and black silk vest, doing my best to keep up with who got what, and how much; put the money in the register and head off the problem drinkers. I called my boss when one of his friends was at, or perhaps just over, the limit. We didn't deal with the boss's buddies, we let him have the honor of cutting his friend off. I wanted to cut him loose two hours ago. It was 1:45 and the last call was 2 am, period. This was by law, and the PLCB had pretty strict rules about it. I had mopped up, swept up, and had taken the trash can out. I then balanced the till, and I was washing the remaining glasses and mugs when my boss asked me for a favor. I hate favors. They usually suck.
"A favor huh?" I looked at him. I knew it was going to be something ridiculous if he phrased it like that. He never asked for favors unless it was like a task for Hercules!
"Well," I looked at him, "what is it?" He looked very uncomfortable.
"Brad, would you please drive Stan Mertz home? He's in no shape to drive." Wayne was the assistant manager for the whole restaurant. It was his friend Doctor Stan that I had asked him twice to cut off. Now I have to drive the good doctor home? I don't think so. All I had was my motorcycle, and the drunk wouldn't make it down the street on the back of my Little Suzy.
"I'm sorry boss, on my bike tonight. No can do."
"How about if I give you fifty bucks? Drive his car home. His wife can give you a lift back. Please don't tell anybody here at the restaurant. We would both be in all kinds of trouble. You for serving a drunk, and me for telling you to. You know how the PLCB works. The fines would be pretty bad, maybe three hundred dollars each. I should have gone along with you, and cut him off a while ago. So what do you say? Please? You know that I have to get home. If I have to stop and get gas, my wife thinks that I am cheating on her."
He did not have to tell me. I knew his wife was crazy jealous. I think she thought he was with a woman right now. I did know his wife from her ten calls a night, checking up on her hardworking husband. The bar staff was responsible for answering the phone if the hostess did not pick up. The hostess left at nine so I was given the task of speaking to her. She was absolutely sure that Wayne was cheating on her. Ten times a night I had to speak to her, to reassure her that he was working, but sometimes it seemed like she was just hinting around like she was half-assed hitting on me, especially when she was drunk.
She got all sexed up when she got drunk, or even a bit tipsy. One time she was very drunk, and she outright asked me how many inches my dick was. She's married to my boss and she was asking me about my dick?
"Four, inches," I answered.
"Well gees, Brad, that's not very long!" She was slurring her words. She sounded very disappointed.
"Oh, you want length? I meant four inches wide" I said into the phone. She was laughing pretty hard. I figured she was pretty blitzed, as it wasn't that funny.
"Can I see it?" Karen asked me.
"No. You are married, Karen, remember? White dress and a bunch of promises? I am sure one of those promises was that you would never look at Brad's dick." I tried to remind her of her vows in a not so subtle way.
She was mumbling something about me being a spoilsport.
~~~~~~~~~~
I spoke to my boss in the present, "Wait a second boss. You have to be here anyway. The walk-in freezer is having issues and you have to let in the repair guy. Are you going to stay with him until he gets done? That could be all night long. I would do it for you for a couple of bucks, but I can't be in two places at the same time," I reminded him.
"Shit, shit, shit!" My boss knew I was right. "Ok, one problem at a time. Bradley, you take the drunk doc home. I will call my wife about the freezer issue." He knew that he was in for a raft of shit, and was so unhappy.
"Fine, " I rubbed my fingers together at him, and he dug into his pocket to get me fifty bucks. He was happy to get his friend home ok.
"Boss. Why don't you ask your wife to come down here and wait with you? Beg her if you have to. Fix her a couple of nice crab cakes, or maybe a fancy dessert and a nice bottle of wine. Maybe she will stop being so jealous if she is with you while you are waiting for the freezer guy." My boss thought about my idea. "Put a few candles on the table for ambiance, and who knows? Maybe you could even get lucky tonight," I suggested. I kinda figured that was a very long shot.
"You know Brad, that's not such a bad idea! If I can sell her on driving down here," he said. "So go drag the drunk home before he starts to throw up here. Better he does that at his house. Go on Brad, scoot!" He got on the phone, presumably with his always-pissed-off wife.
~~~~~~~~~~
I almost had to carry the doctor out of the bar. Then, he didn't know which car was his. Since he had Mercedes Benz keys, I tried the silver Benz, and they worked. I got him in and belted him up. I made damn sure his window was open in case he got sick.
He didn't know how to get home, just mumbling a lot. "Give me your license," I told him. He handed me his wallet. I figured out where he lived, and we were off.
On the way, he threw up all over the place. Out of the car, into the car, everywhere. What a damn mess! He had paper towels in the vehicle, so it must be a regular thing for this guy. I cleaned him and the mess up as best I could, then drove him to his very nice house. The porch light was on, but he couldn't get out of the car. Just fucking great. I pulled him out, up and over the shoulders he went.
Ten minutes later, I was standing at his doorstep holding him up as I had to carry the doctor to the door. I rang the bell. The door flew open and there was a very tall busty brunette standing there holding a cast-iron skillet. She was extremely pissed off and ready to kill someone, and ... she was in night clothes.
"Hold on Mrs. Mertz! My name is Brad Jones. I am just delivering your hubby to you. Please don't hit me. Here is his wallet. He couldn't tell me how to get here, so I had to check his license. Where do you want him?" I asked.
"Brad. Can you help me to get him upstairs? I'll never get him up there by myself. Sorry about the frying pan. I was going to whack him one for doing this again. He starts drinking and doesn't know when to stop."
I hoisted Doctor Stan over my shoulder and carried him up the stairs, dropped him in bed, and removed his shoes and jacket. I found a waste paper basket and placed it next to him. Just in case.
"Doc, if you have to throw up again, there is a plastic basket next to you ok? Good night."
"Mbleblemblblbm," is all he said. I left him to sleep it off. I was outa there.
"Thank you so much for all your help! Wait let me give you some money." She opened up her husband's wallet and handed me a crisp one hundred dollar bill.
"I can't take that. My boss already paid me to deliver Stan home, safe and sound. So I am ok. I do have to ask you for a lift back to the bar. My bike is there, and it's a nine-mile walk from here."
"Nope. I want you to have it. You put him to bed and took good care of him. And I want him to know that I gave you that money. I am pissed off at him. This is not the first time he has done this. Here!" And she shoved the bill into my shirt pocket. She accidentally touched my chest and almost involuntarily gasped and said, "Wow. Do you work out a lot Brad?" She touched my biceps and shoulders. "Oh my goodness you are all big muscles," she said, seeming to reappraise me from head to toe. "Let's use his car," she said. "I'll get you back to the bar."
"Not a great idea. He sort of decorated it. I cleaned up as best as I could, but it still stinks of throw up. May we use your car?"
"I think you're right. It would make me sick to smell that. He had better get that cleaned up tomorrow. Let's take my van. We were all set to go camping tomorrow, but I don't believe that is going to happen now. He pisses me off so bad sometimes. He definitely has a drinking problem. Come on, let's go. Do you want to drive? Please. I don't know how to get there..." She had on fuzzy slippers and a flannel bathrobe. Her brown hair was very shiny and her face was angelic. Her lips were full and plump. She was his trophy wife, extremely attractive and very sexy. I pushed those thoughts away and we got into her van.
The back of the van had a mattress that took up pretty much all the space back there. There was a large sleeping blanket already laid out. I guess her hubby had messed up their weekend plans.
I backed out of the driveway and headed to the restaurant. She was staring at me.
"How old are you Brad?" She asked me.
"Eighteen. I'll be nineteen in about two months. I'm going to state college to save my mother a bunch of big bucks. My dad passed away two years ago."
