SlideThe Scales From My Eyes

Not unsurprisingly, the bar was the only real break in the illusion, for obvious reasons. Still, the decorators had done their best. The lighting was mostly directed at surfaces out of sight of the customers, either up at the recessed ceiling or down at our low work surfaces. One unfortunate side-effect was that you always had light in you eyes, but, hey, who ever said work was supposed to be pleasant? However, behind the bar was our objective, a door into the club's back passages. 

It doesn't really occur to you until you work in one, but half of a bar or club's work is done out of sight of the customers. There's always a whole network of passages behind the walls, leading to the storerooms, cellars and break rooms that power the place. If you've ever wondered where all the staff go during the night, they're probably in the passages finding more drinks. Or hiding from their customers, of course. 

Scott led me into the passageway behind the main bar, answering my questions about the upcoming shifts. The only one he was really focusing on was Monday evening's opening, because it was make or break for the club. Somehow, Scott and his colleagues had managed to get the contract to be the official venue for the freshers' first night in Leicester. Don't ask me how. I've no idea. If I had to guess, I'd say that they paid one monster of a bribe. Not that I'm complaining, as they're paying me a major bonus for the shift. 

The back passages were far cheaper maintained than the club proper, little more than cheap, battered plaster that had been painted white a long time ago. They were also tight, with only enough space for us to walk in single-file (Yay, more butt watching!). As we walked, the conversation seemed to dry up, until we were walking in a silence, punctuated solely by the sound of our shoes striking the plastic floor. 

As we walked, something struck me as odd. I seemed to be the only person in. I'd been told that this shift was one last training session, one extra just to calm the owner/ managers' nerves about Monday night, but no one else seemed to have turned up yet. It was all a bit weird. 

"Ah! Here we are!" Scott said with a flashed grin. His office was a hole in the wall, a little box with half the ceiling filled by the cellar next door's refrigerator, a desk filling most of the floor space. With the door open, there was just enough space for two chairs, one of which Scott immediately took, gesturing silently for me to take the other. I quickly sat down, knowing full well how rare a sit down was while working behind a bar.  

"So what's up?" I asked and he grinned boyishly at me. He took a plastic bottle from the desk and shook it at me. I could easily see a red drink sloshing around inside it, filling up maybe half of it. 

"We're thinking of doing a one-off cocktail to celebrate the opening and I was hoping, as our most experienced barperson, you might give me your opinion of it." He spun off the cap with an easy movement and handed it to me before I could even respond. Taking it, I held it up to my eye and examined it. For the briefest moment I wondered if it was spiked. Don't ask me why. 

"What's in it?" 

"That would take all the fun out of it." I had to grin at his amused tone. I raised the bottle to my lips and waited for the liquid to to roll down into my mouth. As I did so, I glanced over to Scott. 

Have you ever looked at someone and known exactly what they're thinking? Right down to the words. Well I did, right then. I looked at Scott and I knew exactly what he was thinking. 

He watched with an avid expression as the drink slid towards my throat and an ugly light gleamed in his eyes. There was a predatory hunger there, just waiting for me to drink. I stopped. There was no way I was going to drink something when a guy wanted me to do so much. The only reason to look like that was if he'd spiked it.