“Finally, at about ten, he lost it. He’d already knocked off at least a bottle of tequila. He looked at the crowd, downed another shot of tequila, looked at me, and growled, “That’s it. I am fucking done.” He screamed to Jimmy to give him a quarter. The scream was so loud, Jimmy actually dropped his handful of mostly melted ice, went to the register, and handed him a quarter. Uncle slammed the shot glass down and headed to the spiral staircase. He was wasted. I followed him up the stairs, worried that he might not make it. He reached the top, wobbled to the pay phone, puts in the quarter, and dialed. I’m thinking he’s calling his coke dealer, but he shouted into the receiver, “You miserable fucking cunt! I hate you, I hate this fucking job, and I quit!” He’d actually called the office downstairs and left a message for Madame GM.”