In honor of my favorite day of the year, Marathon Day (basically a national holiday in Rebekah-land) I switched my normal Sunday day shift for the evening so I could stand on my corner in the cold, screaming my voice raw and clapping my hands so hard I bruise them. Man, I love Marathon Day. But this year there was no Marathon Day. No waking up in the morning like it’s Christmas, jumping up and down on the bed screaming “Marathon Day! Marathon Day! Marathon Day!” No frantic run for coffee before the elite runners fly by. No crazy costumes. Instead, I woke up a little late, played around the house, went for a run and did the laundry. Then I went to work, or tried to anyway. Besides all the other effects of Sandy, the F train is running a little…er…slow. I waited on the elevated train platform for 40 minutes, arriving at work at 8:30 for my shift that was supposed to start at 8. Damn. I finally got there and the bar was dead. Like, dead dead. We’re talking crickets. I figured it would eventually pick up. It didn’t. What did happen was probably the most torturous, awkward and uncomfortable shift I have ever worked. Curious? Read on.
At approximately 11PM a tall brunette walked into the bar, ordered a Guinness and took a seat. She sat right in front of my dish washing sink which, as events unfolded, became problematic.* About 10 minutes later, a shorter blonde woman came in and walked right up to the brunette. This is what happened (names changed because I think that’s what people do in situations like these):
Blonde: Morgan?
Brunette: Yes.
Blonde: I’m Allison.
Morgan (awkward silence): Do you want to chat?
At this point, readers, I figured this was an internet date. I mean, why else would two people who clearly did not previously know each other have this sort of awkward introduction at a bar? Well, I will tell you.
Allison: Chat? About what?!? You ruined my life.
Um. Okay. So now my interest was piqued. Having done all the dishes trying to figure out whether these two ladies were on a date, I had no other reason to hang out right in front of where they were sitting. (Why did you fail me, dishes?! In my one time of need!) I positioned myself slightly down the bar, standing near my only two other customers who also happened to be the only other customers in the bar for the rest of the night and who also happened to leave me about 10 minutes later. Alone. In what I can only imagine is something akin to hell. I eavesdropped on the next bit of the conversation. From the bits and pieces I got, Allison’s husband was sleeping with Morgan. Not only was he sleeping with Morgan, but Allison had gone on a business trip only to come back and find out that (1) Morgan was basically living in her house while she was gone and (2) at some point during the stay Allison’s 7-month old baby was in the bed with her husband and his side piece. The two women then sat there talking for about 30 more minutes, with Allison trying to explain to Morgan why what she was doing was wrong but how Allison doesn’t really blame Morgan but instead blames her lying sack of shit husband (not a direct quote) and Morgan saying that part of the problem was that Allison wasn’t having sex with her husband and that’s probably why he looked elsewhere. Allison then told Morgan that the reason they hadn’t been having sex was that Allison had given birth to 2 children in the previous 3 years and was basically either pregnant or breast feeding at all times. Also, she was tired. At this point, dear readers, I would like to interject two points. One, I was very unclear as to why Allison was sharing with Morgan any details at all of her sex life (or any other portion of her life, for that matter) with the woman her husband is banging and two, if I ever found myself in that position I would take the opportunity to live out a dream of mine: pouring my drink over someone’s head in a public place and storming out. The conversation was painful to hear. And then, it got worse.
Enter the lying sack of shit husband.** So just to be clear, we now have the husband, his wife, and the woman that the husband has been sleeping with behind the wife’s back. And me. Alone. At the end of the bar with wine and disbelief.
The conversation then devolved into the weirdest thing I have ever witnessed. And it went on and on and on. And then on some more. The husband, Brad, called Allison a crazy bitch, accused her of raping him, accused her of slitting her wrists and then pulling her sleeves up to show Morgan the scars. There were none. Apparently, or according to Allison anyway, this had all happened in the middle of a drug-related melt down on the part of Brad. Morgan spent most of the time laughing nervously while Allison kept saying “this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, why are you laughing?!” Morgan then talked about the number of people she was sleeping with at the same time she was sleeping with Brad which then sent Allison into a rage about whether or not they used protection which Morgan “wasn’t sure about” but Brad assured her they were. I am fairly certain Allison got tested for everything today. I know I would have. I kid you not, this went on for 2 hours. Two fucking hours. I was sitting at the far end of the bar, staring at a full glass of wine with my hood up, whispering to myself in a lame attempt to cover up the awkwardness. Brad noticed and yelled down the bar “to” me in a bullshit attempt to acknowledge the horrible scene I was witnessing.
Brad: Ugh, she’s wearing a hood!
Me: I am trying to block everything out. Just pretend I’m not here.
Brad: No, you should hear this. It’s hilarious.
Me: (silence…scowl) Um, yea. Not so much funny from where I’m sitting. I think I’ll get some fresh air.
I only lasted outside in the cold for like 3 minutes. I came back in. It was still going on. Eventually, Allison stormed out but only after she had paid for all of their drinks. Brad then turned to me and said
Brad: Well, she should pay for them, she’s been pulling all the money out of my checking account. $40,000 this week!
Me: I do not feel bad for you.
The adulterous couple then stayed for another bit, rehashing the evening with Morgan claiming that she wasn’t really sleeping with a million other people, including an Australian for those who care, and Brad making sure that his crazy bitch of a wife hadn’t ruined his awesome new relationship. At 5 minutes to 2 I finally kicked them out. I was secretly wishing they would ask me for my opinion so that I could look at them dead in the eyes and say “I think you two are possibly the worst human beings I have ever had the misfortune of sharing a space with” but they never did. Assholes. And they were lousy tippers.
Also, this experience was SO MUCH WORSE than I could ever capture here. There was so much more awkwardness. So much more horrible. Oh, like when Morgan decided to tell Allison that on her and Brad’s 15th anniversary when Brad said he was working late he was actually screwing her. Oh, and also when Morgan recounted a dream she had about Allison and how she had given Allison a hug and then they were friends and it was great and can’t they be friends in real life too? And also the time Brad told Allison he married the wrong woman and she poisoned everything she touched. And when Morgan assured Allison she would be fine because “she’s still young and attractive and has nice clothes.” Nice clothes. Seriously. Okay, I’m done.
*You see, non-bartender readers, I have to spend a lot of time at the dish washing sink because I have to spend a lot of time washing dishes. Even if there are only 3 people in the bar I somehow manage to rack up dozens of dirty glasses. I think we have a poltergeist. This means that if there is an annoying person or an incident of some kind in front of my dish washing sink, there is no way for me to avoid it. I have to stare at it all will I dip my hands into scalding hot chemical water.
**When he walked into the bar I literally almost yelled “this guy? All this hubbub over this guy?!” but I restrained myself.
franklyrebekah 
You need to write a book. I will promote the hell out of it. Kick.
Um wow. Didn’t know soap opera tv happened in real life.
Um wow. Soap opera tv can happen in real life?!?!
I had the surreal experience of talking to my husband’s other wife (yup, you read that right). He and I were together for 16 years, he left me with a text message, and then I discovered the bigamy. She and I had an interesting chat; I held no animosity towards her, as she did not know that he was married. Unfortunately for bartenders everywhere, the conversation took place over the phone. I know that would have been a tale to keep you washing the same dish all night! 🙂
Oh my god, I cannot even imagine. Throughout this entire night I felt for Allison. I mean, obviously I am not in the house, I don’t know what things are like in their private life, but the way in which the other two people here presented themselves to me I wanted to be like “let them have each other! Run! Run as fast as you can!” I imagine that experience was super painful for you, I hope you are holding up okay and I also hope that your (now ex?) husbands other wife (never thought I would type those words) is not an asshole like Morgan was in my tale because my lord.
Oh, very much ex! His other wife was (is? they were still together last I knew) nice enough. She was, however, very naive. It was extremely painful but I now much happier and grateful than ever before. I hope that wife you met is also able to find happiness regardless of the path she chooses.
Yea, I read through your blog after I commented, good job on the marathon, btw! Running with an injury is awful, happened to me at mile 20 during the Phoenix marathon a few years back. I finished the race running but ouch. Not the smartest move I ever made, that’s for sure. Yea, I hope that this wife also is okay and whoever else your ex dates or whatever don’t go through what you have. Also, have to commend you seriously for working to turn a negative experience into as positive one as is possible given the circumstances. It’s inspiring.
oh allison, i am so sorry for you. i hope this is the start of something awesome for her. also, i wasn’t there, but all i could think reading this was “dear actors, it is not okay to go fuck with bartenders just because you are bored.”
Oh my god I SO wish they were fucking with me. But, if not, I wish Allison went home, called a 24-hour lock smith and changed all the locks.
I also left a comment for this one! Sigh. But just so you know, you made my night with this story.
Wish I could say the same myself! It was so bad! Ha!
Best part is he has no shame.. He still comes in. Great Tale and love your blog!
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Thanks, girl!
That is surreal! Wowzah. I would’ve kicked them out earlier shouting some feminist sermons, but being you had no customers.. damnit.