How NOT To Remove An Ass From A Bar

Originally, she had thought herself or Cowboy held the title, but after struggling to remove the hooved 'guest' from the rooftop patio for the better part of the day, she had to admit the 'World's Most Stubborn Ass' was actually a real-life ass.

“What the fuck were they even doing with this thing up here anyway?” she asked one of the chefs who was trying to help extract the animal from the premises. She had very little patience for people or parties lately, so had skipped the pre-wedding festivities last night.

The chef shrugged and shook his head. Having had the previous night off, he hadn't a clue either.

“Right,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She was going to need painkillers for the headache this was giving her. “Any more bright ideas?”

They had tried pushing it, pulling it, luring it, leading it, chasing it, scaring it, and other various attempts that had merely led to damaged chairs, tables and other patio fixtures. Nothing seemed to be working.

At least, the cost for the property damage wasn't coming out of her wallet.

Currently, the donkey stood at the far side of the patio, contently eating the leaves of the last living potted plant on the rooftop. Sighing, she pulled a small notebook out of her back pocket and scribbled on one of the pages, another note of what else had to be replaced.

As she slipped it back into her pocket, she spotted what appeared to be the last undamaged chair on the patio, toppled in a nearby corner. She went over, picked it up and set it on its legs, then used the opportunity to sit and think.

She didn't get to think for very long. The seat wobbled and creaked suddenly, before collapsing underneath her. Rubbing her sore rear, she picked up one of the wooden legs that had been loosen when it was knocked over during one of the failed attempts to get the creature off the roof.

Grumbling, she swore and, without looking, whipped the leg across the patio in frustration.

The shocked and angry hee-haw of the donkey told her what she had hit.

The shocked, scared look of the chef before he ran off confirmed what she suspected from the galloping thumps on the stone-tiled patio floor.

She looked up anyway.

“Aw... shit...”

She was on her feet in a second and sprinting for the stairs, silently thanking Neil for kicking her out of bed all those mornings to get her to go for a run.

She managed to vault down the first dozen steps, yelling “Open the back doors! OPEN THE BACK DOORS!” as she went, but lost her footing when she landed and tumbled the rest of the way down. There was a trail of heavy thuds and profuse swearing until she crashed into the PATIO CLOSED sign at the bottom of the staircase.

She lay there a moment, dazed, before the sound of hoofbeats on the wooden stairs shook her back to her senses. Then she was back on her feet in an instant. If she had sprained or broken anything in the fall, adrenaline and self-preservation wouldn't let her know until after.

“OPEN THE FUCKING BACK DOORS!” she screamed as she bolted past the kitchen. She didn't have to look behind her to know the mad donkey was gaining on her.

Two of the chefs from the kitchen were holding open the shipping doors that led into the back alley, when she arrived at the back of bar and grill. She couldn't spare the breath to thank them as she rushed past.

As she turned down the alley, she heard a loud, metallic crash behind her. She afforded herself a glance and slowed her steps. The ass tripped and stumbled over some garbage cans it had run into in the narrow alleyway. Distracted and disoriented, it lost its initial fury and began to wander aimlessly down the alley in the opposite direction.

Sighing in relief, she leaned against a nearby wall and sunk to the ground.

She really hoped everyday wasn't going to be like this at her new job.