Bottleshop Woes.

I’m tired, a fraction tipsy and nursing a kick-arse swollen ankle due to some unexpected shenanigans at work.

It’s been one of my famous 10-hour days at the bottle-shop (dedicated liquor store, for those of you who don’t speak Aussie), and even though it’s the bloody duck’s nuts (best, for those of you who don’t speak Aussie) due to my unlimited access to alcohol and the chicks who pop in faithfully every Saturday night; it just drags at you sometimes.

I potentially see more boobs, short skirts, and decently hot chicks in a single evening than the average bloke does in the average week. Unless of course you club aggressively, work with models, are a Bondi Beach lifeguard, work at busy nightclub, or surf porn on a daily basis. Sweet. Been hit on and propositioned to as well; kind of makes up for not having a Saturday night for the last couple of years.

People, however, are stupid. The drive-thru has been bricked up for a month-and-a-half, and there’s a brand new, pretty posh-looking premium wine section where the drive-thru used to be. Some people still attempt to drive through the brick wall now blocking what used to be the entrance. People still bitch about getting out of their damned cars to buy alcohol. People still ask why the drive-thru has been shut (even with huge signs explaining why). And to top it off, people ask when it’ll be reopening.

Hello you fuckwits, it’s been fucking bricked up! And, to top that off, there’s a brand new shop where it used to be!

Tomorrow our fridge gets turned off and there’ll be a week-long period with no cold beer. To compensate, we’ll be offering free alcohol to customers. Essentially, buy a six-pack, get a couple free bottles of your choice.

How much are you willing to bet that some fuckwits will take the damn freebie, and continue whinging about there being no ice-cold beer? It’s fucking winter damnit! Gauging from the idiots who rock up sometimes, I’d bet some arsehole will pop in, buy a single stubby of beer, claim a freebie, walk out. Drink both. Walk in again, buy another stubby. Claim another freebie. And still whinge.

Thank God the tits and ass parade on Saturday semi makes up for everything. And the "free" beer I get on a monthly basis.

Sadly, still no one to definitively call mine though. Haven’t spoken to Diane in three weeks, and she hasn’t bothered to call. So what if we’re 4000 kilometres apart? An email would do. Or even a text message.

I’m having another beer.