wine and cheap perfume

I worked last night, and I felt like death. Nicole was dancing around behind the bar in all of her glory, singing songs and entertaining the masses. I, on the other hand, stood hunched in the corner, drinking warm tequila by myself and cursing every person who walked through the door under my breath. I hate my job. This sleazy latin guy at the end of the bar learned that my name was Katie and started hollering for me to come over so that he could show me that he had my name tattooed on his shoulder. At first I ignored him, but as he grew increasingly insistent, I gave him a death glare and announced, "I DON'T CARE--AT ALL." Initially he seemed hurt, but then he offered me a hot wing and I ate it. Then he left. Afterwards, Nicole, Jeff and myself met up with this Kabin bartender for breakfast at 7A. As I was waiting in line for the bathroom, this drunk mess of a girl came stumbling in and started pounding on the doors:
"Jackie! Jackie?! Where are you?" She pounded and pounded and then she whipped her husky, barely clothed body around and asked a white-haired man standing in front of me in line, "Hey! Is Jackie in there?"
He looked at her like she was a louse and replied, "I don't know who Jackie is." I liked him.