The alarm clock rang with ferocity so eccentric that Nancy Plowes thought perhaps she was still dreaming. Her head lay sideways against the soft cushioned pillow as one delirious eye glared at the red LED lights flashing an unnaturally early awake time. The sound spewing from the speakers caused her head to pound with a slow steady dull beat, the combination of too many cigarettes and too much booze with not enough sleep. She smacked the clock clear off the end table and turned over. The man sleeping next to her snored gently and it took her moments of immense concentration to finally piece together the events of last night. Her mind ran with images of a donkey, a rundown bar on the shady side of Anaheim, and 5 empty carafes still oozing the slushy remains of tequila and crushed ice cubes. The memory of it all caused her stomach to swoon as she sat herself upright on her crooked bed.
“July…7th?” She said out loud to the scattered clothing and drowsy companion that made up her tiny apartment bedroom. Nancy swung her legs out from the covers and placed her tender feet on the sharp remains of a broken ashtray completely filled with butts. The pain was tremendous but brief. At least the remaining alcohol in her system was still producing minor aid. She stood, gathered what composure she had, and sighed. The room was in complete disarray and her hair felt sticky with sweat. The horseshoe shaped toilet rug had replaced the calendar that once hung proudly from the bathroom door. The rug was missing almost all of its frayed carpeted wool. The missing twisted tuffs were super glued to the adjacent wall to spell the incoherent thank you message of a drunken patron.
Nancy experienced her regular morning routine while dodging sleeping patrons, trash, broken bottles, clothing piles, dirty dishes, ashtrays, and cigarette butts. The coffee maker bubbled and churned out her morning tar as she quickly ate a piece of bread hardened by age. Her wrinkled powder blue dress sat awkwardly on her frame seeing as her uniform was originally tailored for her size 8 body which had now shrunk to a size 5 due to her new diet care of Joe Camel. Finally her coffee was ready, her smokes sat comfortable in the dress front pocket, and her smile was fitting, it was time for work in the Happiest Place on Earth.
NORMALLY I would continue to flesh out this story in a creative manner, but seeing as I must honor Katie as well as myself while telling our story I think it appropriate to just let you know about Nancy in good honest terms. The Blue Bayou restaurant sits next to the river that carries tourists across the magical land of the Pirates of the Caribbean. Me and Katie were lucky in our reservations to get a table next to this river. The setting is placed in New Orleans with lamps giving off just enough light to mood light the whole restaurant. Our waitress, Nancy, might have been one of the most overly cheerful people I had ever been served by. Her accent seemed like a mix between Marge Gunderson from Fargo and any wife south of Kentucky. Her eyes became huge at the mere mention of wanting an Arnold Palmer to drink. After the moment of proposal she came back with incredible ecstasy asking in great emotion "Did we just get engaged?!?!".
Anyone who is that fake cannot be so pure. Nancy "Plowes" has to be a chain smoking, constantly drunk, drug dealing woman with a dark hidden past, at least I think so...
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