The Cords

We’re getting a new walk-in cooler downstairs. My manager is doing a lot of the work, with a fellow bartender, working 80 hour weeks just to get it done.

He’s downstairs in the basement, lugging this big, tall ladder around. He keeps on hitting this rat’s nest of cords on the ceiling. He gets frustrated after awhile, and decides to take action.

He follows all of the cords, they don’t seem to be connected to anything. The building is a century old, could be cords from the 80’s. After awhile, after assessing the situation, he takes out his pocket knife, rips down the cords, and cuts them off. After he’s done, he surveys his work. Yeah. Looks good. Looks really good. He feels a sense of pride and accomplishment. He knows he’s doing a good job.

Later on that day, he’s at band practice. He plays his music, he says, let’s work on this part, let’s work on that, afterwards, as he’s leaving practice, he checks his phone, and sees he got a text message from a bartender, and a call from his boss. He reads the text, and it says,

Something’s wrong with the Internet. It’s not working. What should I do?

He reflects on his day, and sadly, recalls the cords he cut from the basement ceiling.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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