Work, work, work…that’s all we did between the two clubs.  We were finally making some real money so it was worth the sore muscles, back aches and cramped feet.  What wasn’t worth it was my friend and her boyfriend arguing at any given moment.  I was sick of it.  I finally had the last straw when we came home one morning from working an almost solid 12 hours to the smell of pot.  I lost it.

I went off on my friend first.  She calmly acknowledged that he did something wrong.  How gracious of her, right?  I told her if she wanted to allow him to mistreat her, that’s on her.  But I will not stand for this.  I am against drugs of any kind around my person, no excuses.  The last thing any of us needed was to end up in jail out in Vegas.  He came out of the bathroom trying to justify smoking weed in the bathroom.  “I was blowing it out the window!”  I didn’t give a crap.  I told him exactly what I thought of him: the yelling, the verbal abuse, the whining, the smoking, the unemployment – inexcusable.  It got very quiet.

Do you know he started crying?  He looked like an 8-year-old kid who just got grounded.  It was hysterical.  A couple of hours later, my friend announced that they were going to get another hotel room.  I immediately started packing their clothes.

Not many days later, we were all packing our bags – back home to Tampa.