Pro Tip: Don’t Smoke Marijuana in Front of Your Job

Below is an excerpt from my book — a mostly true story about my days as a strip club bartender in Austin, Texas where I mostly broke shit, drank a ton of booze, sometimes poured drinks, and always hit on my favorite manager.


“Sherman’s concubine. You bring the dicks, we bring the chicks. How may I help you?”

Murphy chuckled on the other end.

“Yes. I am calling because I want to have my son’s bar mitzvah there.”

“Oy Kavoltz! That’s fantastic! Tell ya what, Szechuan, bring your Jew ass in here and we’ll start a party planning committee.”

About twenty minutes later, I made a valiant effort to go undetected as I snuck out of my place of employment to smoke marijuana in the parking lot with Murphy. He was conveniently backed into the parking space closest to the front door. It seemed like a logical idea at the time.

I quickly slipped into Murphy’s car and packed the bowl for him.

“Atticus. This isn’t a complicated task. Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“Why would I when I have you to do it for me?” Murphy replied.


I have no idea how to roll blunts for the exact same reason. It’s rather convenient and makes my life a lot simpler. Not like I won the lottery or something, but pretty close to that.

Murphy took a hit from the bowl and passed it back to me as he held in the smoke.

He always held it in for as long as he could. His face would get all red and shit, sometimes purple.

One time I honestly thought he was having a heart attack because he grabbed my arm, squeezing tight, and just looked at me wide-eyed as his face became more and more like a fucking tomato.

After thirty-seven years and the birth of my second grandchild, Murphy exhaled.

“Hey, did you hear? McDonald’s is going vegan!” stoned Murphy informed me. I looked over at him, blinking and shaking my head before inevitably starting to laugh hysterically.

At one point in my life, I was extremely gullible and everyone knew it.

In high school, someone convinced me strawberry milk comes from cows who are on a strict “strawberry only” diet.

However, I’m proud to report that in recent years I am wiser and, more often than not, can spot the bullshit.

“Oh look! It’s Richard!” Murphy chuckled.

I instantly panicked as I scanned the parking lot to make sure he wasn’t messing with me.


Sure enough, Dick pulled up in his tiny car that I had no idea how he fits in.

He parked directly across from the two of us.

I immediately ducked down in the seat with thoughts racing through my mind on how to save my ass.

I had to get out of this predicament and I had to do it fast. HAZZARR!

“This is the worst possible timing ever! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Are these windows tinted? Shit. Fuck. Tits in the ass!” I cried.

Slumped down on the floorboard of the passenger seat, I frantically hit the pipe again.

“Abort mission! Abort! Abort!” I shouted to no one really other than myself.

I was now faced with the dilemma of how the hell I was going to get back inside covertly.

I mean, I’m already a ninja but this would require advanced level skills. I couldn’t walk in the front door behind Dick because I had absolutely no legitimate reason to be in the parking lot.

Maybe I could go grab a clump of dog hair from my car and say, “Whoops! Forgot to throw this away,” as I jubilantly tossed it in a trash can.

Richard stepped out of his car and Murphy peeled out of our VIP parking spot.

It dawned on me at this moment in my life that smoking pot right next to the front door of your job wasn’t such a bright idea.

It is also important to note that Murphy backing his car into the front most parking space only enhanced the delinquency in this rather inconvenient scenario.

We lingered in the back of the parking lot, waiting for Richard to disappear into the titter.

“Need a ride to the kitchen?” Murphy proposed.

We both laughed, while at the same time acknowledging this was the only way I could possibly get away with this.

“Murphy, you’re a fuckin’ genius,” I praised him.

We coasted around to the side of the building by the dumpsters.

It would appear as if the trash company had gone on strike again.

They were pissed we didn’t separate recycling and waste. Not only was the dumpster overflowing with trash, but heaps of bags were piled up on the ground as well.

I raced to the back kitchen door, hoping it wasn’t locked because I didn’t feel like exerting force to bang on the door. James was most likely blasting his shitty music in the kitchen and my aggressive police-style knocking could potentially go unheard.

Fortunately, the door was unlocked.

I flung it open and scared the shit out of James.

I scanned the kitchen, searching for something I could pretend to be doing to justify not being behind the bar.

You know, because I’m the bartender.

James and Kell knew me all too well.

Kell quickly passed James a plate of food and James shoved it into my hands.

I owe these guys for their quick thinking and heroic act.

On my journey back to the bar, I located Richard sitting at a table with Thomas.

Holding the plate on the palm of my hand, I strode past the pair and saluted Richard with a big smile on my face.

From Thomas, I received the look of death as he shook his head.

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