The names in this story have been changed to protect the guilty. Which is me.
This girl comes up to the bar, super cute, I’ve known her for years, she orders a round of drinks for her and her friends. She’s drinking whiskey on the rocks, which I think is rad for a girl to drink. I make em, put em out in front of her, we exchange pleasantries, how you been, great to see you, we complete the transaction, then she grabs her drinks and says, I love you, Clint!!! I give her back a, love you, too.
The only problem is…I don’t know her frickin name.
I’ve learned it like a dozen names, but I just can’t remember it. And I’m usually really good at names. She just doesn’t have a name that fits her. She’s spunky, original, fun, and unique, but her name is like Jennifer. No offense to the Jennifer’s in the World. I went to school with a Jennifer, and, never mind.
I text the sound guy upstairs who knows her boyfriend. What’s the chicks name that’s married to Barry? He texts back, Sarah. Then I text, Yep. Thanks. She just told me she loved me, so I guess I should know her name. And then he texts back,
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.