Mountains Out of Molehills

When I got to work today Bagheera told me we couldn’t use the back gate anymore.

Say what?

The back gate opens off the parking lot into a small enclosure and the back door of the kitchen. She was in NO mood to discuss it, but apparently P. Little is back in town and King Triton thinks he’s going to break into the bar, so we can’t use the back gate.  I think he does this stuff just to piss off Bagheera.

Who’s P. Little? He’s Davey’s less ambitious, more dumb brother.  How could he be less ambitious and more dumb?  By knocking up a fat chick and scamming the state out of welfare only to get caught.

I thought Bagheera meant we couldn’t use the back gate until it was fixed, so I gave it some thought tonight.  It drags in the gravel and currently is frozen closed in a couple of inches of ice.  The latch is a joke and has never worked.  I decided a SOBER person needs to take it off the hinges and cut two or three inches off the bottom and then put it back on the hinges.  (I have to step-by-step and state the obvious because I’m so used to working with drunks who do everything half assed.)  A proper latch is in order, too.

I mentioned this to King Triton as I was leaving work.  He said, “I’m going to have someone screw it shut.”

Uh…this is NOT okay:

  • We have to drag our trash through the bar. 
  • If there is a fire or an armed robbery (always a possibility in King Triton’s mind) we are trapped with only one exit from the kitchen. 
  • I have to go through the bar at night to start Frankenvan.  It’s bad enough that I have to wade through the drunks as I’m leaving, I certainly don’t want to do it three or four times a night. 
  • I’ve started exiting out the front door because I keep finding Brain Damaged Chris lurking in the parking lot, and I’d hate to make him more brain damaged.  If he sees me going out to start Frankenvan he gets a head start on the lurking.

I asked what was with the screwing.

“I’m scared to death P. Little is going to break in here.”

“The back door is triple locked and has a 2×4 brace.  He’s not getting in the back door.”

“He could come through the window.  He broke in here before.”

“Oh yeah, what did that get him?”

“I don’t know.  It happened before we bought it.”

“So…20 years ago P. Little broke in here and now you are going to inconvenience and endanger the kitchen staff on the possibility that he might haul his lazy ass off the couch and come down here in sub-zero weather to wedge himself through a tiny window and steal $50?”

He did have the decency to look a little ashamed about the whole thing. 

Why do some people have to create a problem where none exists?  It’s not as if P. Little is riding into town with his gang of Worthless Motherfuckers after 20 years of hard time, and he’s heading straight for the Cowboy to rob the place Butch Cassidy style.  The lazy bastard has been taking up space on his mom’s couch, not 3 blocks away from the bar, for the last 10 years that I know of.

I swear, one of these days I’m going to start drinking Pine-Sol straight from the bottle.

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