Prairie Fire

A guy actually orders two Prairie Fires tonight. I’m so stoked. I love making Prairie Fires. ‘Cause they’re so disgusting. Tequila and four splashes of Tabasco sauce. It burns. And tastes horrible. The perfect shot.

I tell the guy, we don’t have Tabasco sauce, but I’m gonna run down to our other bar, and get a bottle from them. I’ll be back in three minutes. He looks at me, stunned, says, awesome. This is how much I love making Prairie Fires. I’ll go above and beyond just to see they’re faces when they take the shot. And his buddy has never had one before, doesn’t even know what’s in it, so bonus.

I jog down to our other bar, it’s busy, and ask my fellow bartender, do you have an extra bottle of Tabasco?  He checks…nope. Damnit.  I think about going to another bar on the street, begging for one, but I decide I don’t have the time. I get back, break the news to the guy. Sorry, dude. No Tabasco. And shit’s intregal for the shot. He’s bummed, I’m bummed. No Prairie Fire. He says, I’m not mad at you. Just disappointed. I promise you. You come back next time, I’ll have Tabasco sauce.

I write a note to our manager. Need Tabasco sauce.

And then I underline it.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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