Tiny Tim

Hello all. It’s been one hell of a week, and I personally feel like I need a few days of recovery to recover from my holiday weekend. Let’s dive in.

The holidays are a difficult time for many. We’re fatter, we’re lonelier, and the anguishing pangs of nostalgia for a time bygone is enough to make you want to throw yourself off a fucking bridge. Add into that my completely neurotic and unhinged family, and I was dangerously close to sitting in the garage with my car running and the windows rolled up. The only issue was that no one had a garage.

Although I have delved into what an absolute neurotic basket case my mother is in the past, I don’t believe I’ve ever touched on my father. To call him a walking, talking, 300-pound toddler is an understatement. Not only does he bark out orders to my sister and I for any menial task that he is uninterested in performing himself, he has absolutely no filter, social cues, or semblance of an idea regarding what is appropriate Thanksgiving dinner conversation.

Case in point:

I sat at my grandmother’s dining room table staring at my father’s choice of attire in disdain. He had arrived two hours late wearing what can only be described as parachute ski pants with zippers by the ankles. The zippers were unzipped, and I had ignored his several requests to zip them for him. To really tie the look together, he was also wearing a seemingly size XXXXXXL pleather jacket that went down to his knees. I don’t know where one would even find a jacket that size.

I had just finished my second glass of wine before 4 p.m. when I overheard him speaking to one of our distant relatives (let’s call him Peter) regarding his brother in law (Michael) that has passed away only a week prior.

“Peter, I’m sorry to hear about Michael. You found the body right?” my father asked while shoving pumpkin pie down his throat despite the fact that dessert had not yet been served.

“Yeah. Thanks Rob.” You could tell at this point that he had no interest in continuing this conversation.

“How long was he lying there, do you think, before you found him?” My head jerked up and my eyes darted rapidly to Peter who had begun choking on his water.

“I mean, was he cold?” he continued.

“Dad-“

“What? It’s Petey! I can ask Petey!” (No one calls him Petey)

“Um.. well.. we think it happened on Monday.. and I found him Wednesday morning.. so about a day or so..” ‘Petey’ said cautiously.

“Was he stinking?” This was the wording my father had chosen in regard to whether or not decomposition had set in.

And I honestly think I blacked out from pure humiliation at that point because I can’t remember if there was ever a response. I might have fainted.

Anyhoo, once my Thanksgiving nightmare had ended I embarked on an entirely new nightmare. As some of you know, I have still agreed to work Saturday nights at Bar Rosso for extra cash and also because I am a masochist. This past Saturday, I was presented with the option to bartend a private party for someone who I had known distantly in high school. From my own recollection she was nice enough, and the prospect of a spare $500 to spend on about two items of my choice from Zara was hard to pass up.

As it turned out, all the embroidered shift dresses in the world would not have been worth the substantial blow to my self-esteem. While I was already used to many of the attendees (mostly male) behaving with a twinge of superiority presumably due to a perceived higher socioeconomic status, the looks of pity and sympathy from the party guests were frankly too much to bare.

At one point as I was wrapping up the bar one of the gentlemen who I had actually hooked up with in high school approached me with a crest-fallen look on his face and let out a small sigh as he extended his hand.

“Here you go Rach. I’m sorry, I wish I had more to give you,” he said in a somber tone as he handed me a $20 bill. As if I was Tiny fucking Tim.

I thought about explaining that I only worked one night a week in a restaurant as a side hustle and I actually had a full time job and a THRIVING (not really) blog, but I just grimaced and took the 20.

Anywayyyssssssssssssss I hope you all had a very merry Thanksgiving. I have to go hunt down a Christmas Tree as a last ditch attempt to try and inject some Christmas spirit into my veins.

Also yall follow my Instagram @WineandZoloft Kthanxbye!

#thanksgiving #family #dad #bartending #wine #zoloft

One thought on “Tiny Tim

  1. you don’t even understand, I am sitting at my desk, at home, working, I see your email come thru. I keep saying “I will read it later, I have so much to do, I will read it later” yea well that lasted maybe 7 mins because technically, 7 mins is later, but…. I couldn’t concentrate knowing that email was sitting and waiting for me. yet again, giggling as I read what perfection you wrote again.  the zipper pants at the ankles, the XXXXXXXXL jacket and the boy you once slept with handing you $20.  I can’t with you Rachel. it is spot on every.  single.  time.  and I FUCKING LOVE IT!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: