Happy Akuroku day! Here's a "holiday treat", haha. You can check out some of my other akuroku stories as well (some of them were today, some are old, but good!)

There was nothing more depressing than spending the cheeriest holiday of the year busting tables, washing dishes, and sweeping a deserted bar/restaurant. Yet there I was, one of the only employees who checked 'available' on the 24th and 25th, wasting my good holiday away to the smells of dirty dish towels and food I wasn't allowed to eat emanating from the kitchen. I didn't even understand why the boss had the store open today, no one was here but me and Jerry in the back, who I was pretty sure had been sneaking liquor since we opened. Season's greetings.

"Welcome to Limit," I say as an elder man comes into the bar/restaurant. The few people who had been coming in every other hour was some old business man who's probably divorced and their kids are too grown to come visit them. "How many will you be with today?"

"It's just me…it was supposed to be me and my wife, but she decided she didn't want to be the 'wife' anymore." He tries to say it lightheartedly, but it just comes out somber.

"Yes well, right this way sir." I guide him to one of the many vacant tables and hand him a menu, telling him to take his time deciding. There was absolutely no rush.

Readjusting the pin in my blond mess of hair, I look out the bar/restaurant's window for the umpteenth time since my shift started, and I can still see the same things. People briskly trudging through the snow that had been on the ground for days. Couples walking hand in hand, probably heading off to family or to fuck. Both sound so lovely right now. But seeing as how I'm painfully single, and my only family is vacationing off in Costa Rica getting their party on, any form of loving is not on my list of plans for the night. Speaking of tonight, it just officially turned into the night shift. Which I signed up for as well. Season's greetings.

I guess the one good thing I get out of this is the money. Even though I can count the number of customers that came in on one hand, working holidays paid extra. And I've been meaning to buy a new rug for my living room.

The man from before raises his hand up and I go over to take his order. Steak and beer, excellent choice sir. "Jerry!" I call once I get to the back. "The number 7, steak well-done!" No reply. Where was he? As soon as I'm about to yell for him again, I see him stumble from the back door. "I know you did not just take a smoke break while I've been busting my ass in here."

"What busting? We haven't had anyone in the past few hours. And the ones that did come in went to the bar. I don't understand why I'm even here…" Jerry slurs, tying his apron back on.

"I knew it. You've been slipping alcohol, haven't you?"

"…just a little." I glare at him. "What? This holiday is depressing enough that I'm spending it holed up in Limit's hot smelly kitchen. I at least want to keep one tradition alive."

"Which is?"

"Getting drunk off my ass, then getting laid," he says with a smirk.

"You are a pig," I say, but the laid part doesn't sound too bad right now. The problem with this is because I'm not a one-night-stand type of guy. I am a once-you-get-to-know-me-well-then-I'll-allow-you-to-take-off-my-pants kind of guy. I knew Jerry was an if-it-walks-and-has-boobs-that's-good-enough-for-me guy. I.e.; pig.

"Hey, we always agree," he defends. "Its mutual consent to fucking, then running. The best holiday treat I could ask for."

"The number 7? Well-done?" I say, ignoring and attempting to forget this conversation ever happened.

"Yeah, yeah, I got you blondie."

I take my pencil and throw it at him. The point hits him right on the forehead.

Leaving him in his string of curses, I go back to the floor. The single man at the table. Crowds going by. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Same old same. I get the customer's beer from behind the bar and go over to hand it to him. I actually enjoyed working the bar. For one thing I didn't have to go into or anywhere near the kitchen. You also get to meet a lot of interesting people. Everyone always had their reasons for coming in for a drink, and they were all different, albeit some more interesting than others.

"Thank you," the man says when I place the drink down on a napkin for him.

"You're welcome, sir." I hear the bell from the kitchen go off. I know he didn't already have that food finished.

"The boss had me pre-make the meals so we wouldn't be using any new ingredients," he explains. "All I had to do was reheat it. So order up, blondie."

He ducks this time, but my pad bounces off the wall behind him and falls on his head. What can I say, I'm a good shot.

"Sorry for the wait, here you are sir," I say, placing the plate down. "If you need anything call me over." He nods and I go back to my idling from before. This was absolutely ridiculous. I just might call in tomorrow. I don't think I can take another day and night of…this. Granted, there might actually be more people, but what did I really care? Oh right. New rug. Priorities, priorities.

The man finished in about 20 minutes. I went to clear his table and hand him the bill. We were a very fair and, despite its utter lack of customers at the moment, very popular bar/restaurant. Limit had made the city's top 10 places to eat last year, and we were still kicking. I had got a job as a waiter about six months ago, and had moved up to bartender as well. The pay was good and the tips were great. I didn't know if that had to do with my amazing service skills, or how good my ass looked in these slacks, but either way, I was raking it in. I actually wanted to move into a house that was just out of the city when I saved enough up. But that would require me to also get a car. So I had a lot of saving to do until I got out of my upper-east side condo. Don't get me wrong, it's a really nice place. If anything, I have high standards. It's one of the reasons I'm living that single life right now, and have been for the past…god knows how long. Maybe Jerry was right. Maybe I really did just need to get laid. But it was hard for a short blond 23 year-old gay bartender, with high standards, to do so. Trust me.

"Thank you sir, and have a good holiday." I take the bill and am about to head to the register when he suddenly burst into tears. I jump at his sudden outbreak.

"Um…sir?" I ask cautiously. I wanted to make sure he was alright, but at the same time, I didn't really want to be pulled into a sob story.

"It's just, my wife, s-she, pulled the divorce papers out of nowhere. I thought w-we were happy. I keep thinking that any day, she'll come back, b-but she hasn't. She even took the dog! Poor Roger cried while he was being pulled out. Our daughter doesn't care, won't even come up to see her old man. Ever since she got married, I've barely heard from her. Not even a card or call for my birthday!"

Man. What a sob story.

Eventually he just started choking on his words as the tears and snot continued to run, dripping on the table. Great.

"There, there sir," I say, awkwardly patting him on the back. "Sometimes…these things happen. And life hits us so unexpectedly, that we just have to go with it, or we'll be swept away into despair." I'm pulling my bartender-comfort on him right now. "You can't keep waiting for things to go back as they were, you have to get out there and go grab it by its roots. Take over your life. And you can't keep waiting for your wife to walk through the door, or your daughter to call. Go to her and talk things out. Ring up your daughter and set up a date. Take control. Take action."

He sniffs a few times and blows his nose into a napkin. "D-do you really think I c-can do it?"

"I know you can sir. And the first door to your journey, is right over there." I point to Limit's door. This method is always effective in getting rowdy drunkies out. In this case, he's just giving me a headache.

"Thank you. Thank you so much…" He looks at my name tag. "Roxas. You've given me direction!" He hastily pulls out his wallet and hands me an extra twenty.

"Thank you sir," I say honestly.

"No, thank you Roxas. Merry Christmas!"

"Happy holidays," I say to his retreating figure. Man. What a holiday this is turning out to be.

"What the hell was all that?" Jerry says, coming out from the kitchen.

"Eh. Another customer with a sad story," I explain.

"You see, this is why I don't work the floor. Also 'cause my cooking skills are on a godly level, that my talents would go to waste listening to people's messed up lives."

"Well listening to that man's life got me twenty bucks in tips." I snap the bill in his face to exaggerate my point. He looks wide-eyed at the bill, and storms off back into the kitchen in a huff, saying that he's going to have a talk with the boss about getting the chef a tip jar. Again.

It was well past 9, and still no customers since Mr. Divorce Papers Out of Nowhere. My shift doesn't end till 11. Jerry is officially drunk, my feet are killing me, and I can see that it's started to snow. Season's freaking greetings.

I'm so tempted to mix myself a drink, but the boss made it clear there was no drinking on the clock. If I did, I'd be on the same level as Jerry. That's even more depressing than being alone during the holidays.

This day was officially going down a toilet of alcohol and tears. I grab my dish box and begin wiping down some tables again. I've got to keep myself busy or I'll fall asleep. That sounded good right now. Getting back to my condo, relaxing for the rest of the night…

All thoughts of sipping wine in my bathtub flew out Limit's window as the chime sounded from the door. Because the customer who just walked in was beyond any type of season greeting I could ever get.

Maybe this holiday wouldn't be so bad after all.

Look forward to the rest either later today, or probably tomorrow!