Happy Hour Is for Amateurs
A Lost Decade in the World's Worst Profession
Chapter One
1998
"You threw it out?" I barked into the receiver.
"I—I—I—" My roommate stammered on the otherend of the line. "I—have—to—go. I have so much shit to do today." Click. The line went dead.
I put the phone on the table and stared out the window at the Dumpster in the parking lot behind my apartment. Could I dive into it? Was there a chance success was still in my grasp, thirty yards and a few feet of trash away?
Ring. I answered. "Hello? Hello?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you." My roommate coughed and stuttered. "I've had so much on my plate. I didn't. I mean, I didn't mean it—"
"That's nice, but what do I do now?" I pressed hard, but civil. I couldn't attack him. I had to live with the guy. But I had to vent, and the mess I was facing was his fault.
"Why didn't you ask me? Why would you just throw something like that away?" Click. "Hello? Hello?" He hung up ... read full excerpt from: Happy Hour Is for Amateurs ebook
