I’m chatting with a customer, he’s got a turquoise long sleeve shirt, and a black tie. He’s learned my name, so we’re best friends. He’s buying the bar drinks, whenever anybody comes up, he says, what are you drinkin? I’m buying you a drink. Generous guy. Whatever. Spend your money how you want.
He’s asking me a number of interesting questions during the course of the night. I will pretty much answer any question. I’m an open book, to use that cliche. The first one he asks is, are you gay? I say, why? Are you interested? You know, I hate that question. You inevitably have to defend yourself, and it always feels contrived and forced. Oh, yes, yes, I’m a heterosexual male. Sure, sure.
Then he asks, do you shave your balls? I say, no. I don’t want a razor coming near those things. He says, yes, but have you ever used an electric razor?
Ok, yeah, sure, couple times.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.