The Pledge

I can remember my manager’s smug attitude as if it were yesterday, even though this took place ten years ago. “In the restaurant business, we employ a lot of drunks and druggies,” he told me during my first week on the wait staff. “I can always pick ‘em out by their sick time and number of late days. Now, this is a union gig, so I can’t just fire people for nothing. But I’m a patient man and I document every late shift and sick day. When they’ve gotten enough of those I’ve got good cause to fire ‘em. And there’s not a goddamned thing that Commie union can do about it.”
“With all due respect, sir,” I replied. “I find your attitude personally insulting.”
“Why? You’re not an alchey or a druggie. You’ve got nothing to worry about, do ya?”
“Actually, I’m both,” I said, inching my face closer to his. “I drink and get high every single day – only after work, of course,” I lied. “And I’m staying at this job as long as I want to.”
“I’m going to be watching you every step of the way,” he threatened before storming off.

And I knew he would. So at that moment I told myself I would never call in sick, and never be late for my shift. And it wasn't even about keeping my job; there was a more important message that was involved. Obviously, I knew that sooner of later I would inevitably be late. Busses broke down, traffic sometimes came to a standstill, life intervenes in ways that are simply not foreseeable. But I was going to do my damnedest to never give that prick the excuse…
Three days later I woke up with a truly momentous hangover which was, in actuality, more akin to alcohol poisoning. I had spent the previous night drinking double shots of Frenet and snorting lines of cocaine off the top of the toilet in the dank men’s room at one of my favorite downtown dives. Because the group I was with knew the bartender on duty, he let us stay until four in the morning while he cleaned up – a dubious favor, to say the least.
Within a few seconds of opening my eyes I leaped out of bed and ran to the toilet, where I began vomiting profusely. It was clear to me that this was an act that was to be repeated many times over the day. But I had made my pledge. And I wasn’t going to let that motherfucker win.
At work an hour and a half later, I could feel the cold sweat gathering on my pale, clammy face as I folded napkins for the afternoon shift. The nausea was rising steadily in the pit of my stomach, then made a great surge forward to the base of my throat. I ran into the kitchen bussing station and wretched into the nearest garbage can: nothing came out except a viscous, neon yellow-green fluid, the bile which coated the lining of my stomach. I could taste the residual flavor of cigarettes from the night before on the back of my tongue, their last remnants emanating from somewhere within me. When I was finished I got up and looked around: there was nobody to be seen. I had gotten away with it this time.
The shift was a circle of hell undiscovered by Dante. Twice, while taking lunch orders, I was certain I would upchuck that same yellow-green bile onto the face or suit of the haughty businessman below, only to hold it long enough to escape to the garbage bin outside the building for relief; the ripe stench of rotting food helped to bring forth the forbidden liquid with greater alacrity. Somehow, however, I was able to avoid detection by my coworkers and more importantly the management staff. Although each minute felt more like a quarter of an hour, slowly, inexorably, I was moving toward the end of the workday.
When I got home I fell into bed and a deep sleep that took me into the night. Awaking, I felt like a man reborn. I had achieved the goal and defeated my foe. I had momentum on my side.
I would need it. This pathetic act was to be repeated more than a dozen times over the next year. And these were only the most extreme cases, in addition to the more pedestrian hangovers which were by comparison merely unpleasant. Innumerable were the moments when I awoke and wished beyond all else to make that simple phone call which would liberate me from a day of wage slavery. But I never once gave in. And I was never – not even a single instance, not even one minute – late for work during that entire duration.
School was over and I was graduating, moving on to bigger and better things, I believed. My last day of work had arrived – I had given a months notice and had personally trained my replacement. I was once again folding napkins for my shift. My adversary entered the dining room and approached me.
“For a year I have watched you come in here, sometimes sick as a dog. And don’t think I didn’t smell the booze coming off of you more than once. Since your first week here, I never liked you. You’re cocky and you don’t respect authority. You’re an average server at best. But I’m not going to bullshit you and I’m not going to lie. I have never in my twenty years of experience in this business seen anybody with an attendance record as perfect as yours. It’s a goddamned phenomenon. Congratulations.”
The urge to put it in his face, to say something petulant overwhelmed me, but I knew that to indulge this urge would only lessen my victory. I held out my hand, shook his, and looked him right in the eyes.
“It’s been a pleasure, boss. Thanks for the opportunity.”