I’m behind the bar, it’s busy, there’s a line, waiting for fruity martinis. I mean, I’m quick, and my fellow bartender is a pro, but it can get stressful.

I’ve got my phone hooked up to the sound system, playing music. I made a sweet playlist recently, pretty proud, but all of a sudden, the music stops, my phone starts ringing. Who’s calling me?  Who actually calls anymore? Don’t get me wrong, I’m old school, I like a good telephone conversation, but I guess I’m over it. Texting is just easier, and CAN BE more efficient when you got something quick to say.

I check my phone. I can’t answer, but it’s my wife. She leaves a message. My wife never calls me at night. Just a sweet text goodnight. But right now, I don’t have 20 seconds to check.

Finally, after five minutes, I have a window of opportunity. I text her back, what’s up?  Busy. She texts back, call me back, ASAP. Oh shit, now she got me scared. Is it the kids? What could it be? I just saw her. And there’s 10 people waiting for drinks.

I can’t concentrate. Did I do something wrong?  I’m pouring a martini, I forget what I’m pouring halfway through. Ten minutes later, I can’t take it anymore, I finish a transaction, and hurriedly tell my fellow bartender, I gotta make a call.

I run in the back, I frantically find my wife’s number in my phone. I call her. Pick up, pick up. After three rings, she answers. What’s up, what’s up? What’s wrong?

She says, I’m buyin you your pajama bottoms right now from Land’s End. Do you want the Large, or the Large Tall?

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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