I get to the bar a little early, around 7:50pm, for my shift, slim crowd, probably 20 people in the place. I get behind the bar, exchange pleasantries with my fellow tender, he takes off on break, I start bartending.

An older gentlemen nods at me, I walk over, say, what can I do for ya?  He says, Dewars, on the rocks. You can just use this glass. Cool, I say, grab the glass, and pour pour pour. Here you go, my man. Then he says, Jameson. Ok, a man of few words. Mixin whiskers. Interesting. Whatever, I turn around, grab a shot glass, pour some Jamo, and bring it over to him. I set it down, he says, no, no, no. My last NAME’S Jameson. I have a tab goin. Ohhhh, I say. I thought you were sayin you wanted a SHOT of Jameson. No, no, he says. My last name’s Jameson. We laugh, at the hilarity of the mistake.

Then I go back to bartending, and that’s the end of the story. What?  You want something epic for every story?

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


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