I’m behind the bar, pretty slow, this guy comes up, plops down, chillin by himself, we talk for a bit, then two girls come up to him and say, are these two seats taken? And they’re cute girls, one blond, one brunette. He says, no, they’re all yours. They sit down, start chattin. And I’m watchin him, sittin there, doin nothin. WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT, DUDE? AN INVITATION TO GO INTO THE BATHROOM FOR SOME HANKY PANKY? After five minutes, I can’t take it anymore. I approach the girls, hey, what’s up? How’s your night? That sorta thing. After a couple minutes of chatting, I say, what’s your names? They say their names, I say, I’m Clint, then I go, have you met this gentleman sitting next to you? They say no, he introduces himself, they chat for like twenty seconds, then the girls resume talking amongst themselves, and the guy sits there like a log that hasn’t been flushed down.
The girls leave, I say, what’s up, man? What else did I have to do for you? He says, yeah…um, thanks for that. I didn’t know what else to say. Dude, I say, come up with some shit. It doesn’t matter what it is. TALK TO THEM. Why do girls come to the bar usually? To meet men. You’re a man, they sit right next to you, and this whole bar’s empty!!!! You dropped the ball, dude. He says, yeah, I know. How old are you? I ask. He says, 21. Well, ok, you gotta start somewhere. One piece of advice. Don’t be afraid to strike out. They don’t want to talk to you? Who gives a shit. Their problem, not yours. Go up to women, talk to them, get their number if it goes well, by the end of the night, you’ve got six new numbers in your phone. Believe it. He says, Ok, I’ll try it next time. You better, I say. Life’s too short to dick around.
I go back to my bartending, he gets back on his phone, and another lesson will never be learned.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.