The Cashews

I’m behind the bar, servin drinks, there’s four people at the bar. One guy off to the side, and a group of three. The three at the bar are all eating cashews. After awhile, they get up with their drinks, walk away.

Here’s the deal. I’m starving. I didn’t have time to bring my dinner, all I brought were some grapes and an apple. It’s busy enough, I don’t have time to go get food elsewhere. It’s 8pm, way past dinner time for me.

And they left a handful of cashews on the bar.

They’re on a napkin. They took the bag, opened it, poured it on the napkin. They probably didn’t even touch any of the cashews!  There’s about twenty of them. Lightly salted to perfection.

Problem is, the guy at the bar is sitting right next to the cashews. He would totally notice it if I grabbed them, started eating them. I’ll wait, with patience, he’ll walk away in five minutes.

Twenty minutes later, he’s still there! And the cashews are still there, waiting for me. My mouth waters. Keep it together, Clint.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I wait for the guy to get distracted, I grab the napkin, with the cashews, put them next to the register.

While I’m running cards, with my back to the customers, I sneakily eat my contraband cashews. I finish them up, delicious, I throw the napkin away.

Ten minutes later, the guy at the bar, waves me over, asks for a PBR. I get it for him, set it down, as he’s getting his money together, he says,

How were the cashews?

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Clint Curtis Bar


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