Night Life

Chapter 4: Late Shift

Three weeks earlier.

The hours ticked by so impossibly slowly that Vic was half convinced time itself was actively fighting against him. The table he'd been wiping down for the last ten minutes was still stained and sticky. The pile of dirty plates and glasses by the washing station seemed to have somehow grown twice as large, even though no new customers had come in. In fact, the only customer left in the bar was a middle-aged, tired looking man, sitting alone in a booth and swirling the last few dregs of a disappointing-looking beer. Vic watched him eventually finish the beer, before standing up and staggering away. He hadn't seemed like he'd enjoyed the drink, or the other few glasses he'd finished previously. As he stumbled out of the door, Vic finally gave up on the sticky table and went over to collect the man's empty glass.

LeClark's was one of the more expensive bars in town. It wasn't the sort of place you went to for a cheap pint and fight. Instead, it was more the sort of place you went to so you could spend £70 on a round of drinks and some slightly overcooked fried chicken that came in those weird little metal baskets. The pay wasn't terrible, although in Vic's opinion it wasn't nearly enough compared to how much they were bringing in. Alas, it didn't seem to matter how overpriced the cocktails were, Vic was given minimum wage and told to be grateful for it. Deep down, Vic knew that he should really be considering himself lucky. He had a job and somewhere to live. That was more than could be said for a huge percentage of the rest of the world's population.

As Vic took the glass over to the washing-up station in the kitchen behind the bar, he was so caught up in his worries about money that he nearly crashed straight into someone.
"Woah, sorry!" she yelped, hopping to the side.
"Oh my god, sorry, that was all my fault."
"Don't worry about it! Oh, are you off yet, Vic?"
"Almost. Still got a few last things to wash up."
A guilty, embarrassed look spread across the woman's face. Clearly, she was about to ask for a favour. Her name was Claire and she was the main cook at LeClark's. Occasionally she would get some help, but most of the burgers, chips and chicken was prepared by her. All liberally over-salted, of course, so that people would become thirsty and order more drinks. Then the drunk people would order more food and the cycle would continue. Vic had always liked Claire. She was a fair bit older than him, but unlike some of the staff, she didn't treat the younger employees like babies or idiots. He'd had more than a few interesting conversations with her and she had given him a lift home whenever he hadn't been able to catch a bus. All in all, she'd probably earned a favour or two from him.
"Any chance you could finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen and sort the bins for me? My wife is back tonight and I wanted to meet her at the airport."
Claire had spoken to Vic before about how her wife often had to take long trips for her work and how difficult that made things. He knew how rocky their relationship had been and how hard they were both working to fix it. He couldn't have brought himself to refuse her request, even if he'd wanted to.
"Sure thing!"
A wave of relief cascaded over Claire's face.
"Oh thank you so much! You're an angel!"
She dashed off to get changed.

Vic continued on into the kitchen, slipping his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. He wasn't technically allowed to have his phone out, but it wasn't like there was anyone here to tell him off. The manager was upstairs and the other workers had already gone home. It was 2:07am. His shift had ended seven minutes ago. Vic let his mind wander as he set about washing the pile of cups and plates that had been left on the side. He hated that he knew exactly what he was going to do tomorrow. He was going to wake up at midday and then stare into his fridge while he tried to think of something interesting to make for breakfast/lunch. Then he was going to get bored and just eat cereal instead. Then he was going to take out his phone and scroll endlessly through five second long clips of irritating people doing things he didn't care about. After finally coming to his senses, he would then try to tidy his flat. Of course, he'd spend so long figuring out where to start that he wouldn't end up starting at all. Eventually he'd sit down and try to determine what he wanted to do with his life. He had enjoyed studying creative writing, but he was still unsure if he could actually make a career out of it. It wasn't that his degree was unhelpful. He knew he could look into journalism, teaching or even writing professionally. Nothing he did felt right though. Nothing felt like what he was supposed to be doing. A few hours would pass, during which he would drift between existential dread, anger at the state of the world and general malaise. Then, he would watch something or play a game for a while, before getting ready to go to work again. Every single day was like that. It wasn't that Vic hated his life. He just felt like he was still waiting for it to really start.