In The Mop Bucket

So I’m at the Mews. It’s Saturday. About 4. I came in 1/2 hour early to do some sweeping and mopping I left from the night before. I do the sweeping first, not too bad, there’s a broken pint glass in the Men’s Room, no big deal. There’s some bottles I left on the drummer’s monitor. I carry those to the bar, dump them, put them in their proper place. A guy comes in carrying some drum sticks, wants to know if he can load in. I say sure no problem. He goes through the side door, propping it open on his way out. I finish up the sweeping on the stage, and then go to the back room to start my mopping.

I grab the hose to put in the mop bucket, and then I jump back about 5 feet. My heart starts racing. What do I see?  THERE’S A BAT IN THE MOP BUCKET. I freak out. I start to shake. I don’t do well with bats. They bite and give you rabies.  I grab the mop bucket, and run, like a little schoolboy, through the door, and dump the mop bucket, flipping it onto the ground. After 10 seconds, I lift up the mop bucket, and the bat is writhing, half-alive. It’s about 4 inches long.

I say what the hell, scoop it up, and take a bite out of its head.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

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