I May Be A Quitter, But At Least I Don't Litter*

I have to quit my job.

For serious.

This place is just a bizarro world in which I'm the town crazy, only I'm the one walking around thinking logic and spouting talk that makes sense.

My first inkling that this was getting to be too much was when I started my shift at 8pm on Tuesday to find the place packed. I was shocked; the drunkards don't arrive until 10pm at the earliest. I then followed the crowds gaze and discovered that there was a bikini contest going on. Ladies from all over the world paraded around in their finest beachwear as the crowd clapped and hollered.

The announcer introduced each girl as she walked across, praising her virtue.
"Sarah is from England, she likes vodka-lemonade and Italian men!!!!" At which point Italian men would whistle and English guys would boo.

After the contest, I noticed a few of my female coworkers were wearing bathing suits under their work shirts. Apparently, they had participated in this contest. Ah, to be 18, pierced, and full of confidence.

My next tip-off was on Christmas Eve, where I worked 6pm-3am, and the night started off with a "Jager Train." For only $6 (down from the $9 normal price) patrons could buy a shot on the jager train, which was set up all along the bar. The goal was to break the Australian record for longest Jager train. Instead, it just meant that people got drunk and annoying way earlier than usual.

I've also been sick like whoa recently--probably because I sleep odd hours and eat way too much fast food at 4am. My body is rejecting this lifestyle and telling me to sit my ass down. I even had to leave my 10pm shift on Friday after only 2 hours, because I could not breathe and the bad house music was making my head pulse even more.

Last night (Saturday) I worked 7pm - 3:30am, without a single break. What's curious about this is that the cute blonde girls always get breaks, and sometimes get to even skip out on clean-up if they start work before 8. One of the girls, who started an hour after me, was told to go out for a cigarette break and no one even told me we were shutting down my side of the bar. Um, I think I'm being oppressed, and I'm hella pissed. I'm gonna have to bring this up with Obama, cause these white folks are straight trippin'! This shit's reminding me of plantation days.

And if those aggregious crimes against the blacktress weren't enough, the DJ last night played terrible music, the worst of which was a.... dance remix of Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car'. I kid you not. It was horrible, and I think Tracy, if she were dead, would have rolled over in her grave. In fact, I bet she had nightmares last night which caused her to roll over in bed.
And this song was played TWICE--along with a dance version of 'Wonderwall' by Oasis.

Clearly this is not my element. I did not come down under to spend most of my waking hours reeking of beer, insecurity, and work visas. I can't even do a weekend getaway, and the city is hella wack (um, don't know why I went late-90s-California on you, sorry), and I'm in desperate need of an escape. With an ever-changing schedule, even taking a class is out of the question.

And remember mom's old saying: when you start taking shots of whiskey to get through your day at the office, you know it's time to get the hell out.

TRUTH.

*trying to find the silver lining here, and figured rhyme was the way to go.