Where’s My Phone?

I’m behind the bar, it’s pint night, after midnight. Buddy of mine’s at the bar, drinking Tullamore Dew. I go help other customers, look over ten minutes later, he’s gone. This would be fine, if he hadn’t started a tab. Also, his cell phone is sitting at the bar. Huh. Maybe he’s just out smoking. But it’s getting around 1:15AM. I take the phone, put it behind the bar.

Everybody leaves by 1:30AM, I lock the doors, start cleaning. At around 1:50AM, there’s a knock at the front door. I look, it’s my buddy, I go and open it. Hey, man, I say. He says, yeah, yeah, you know I wasn’t going to leave without paying my tab. I say, yeah. You’re usually pretty good about it.

I say, just four bucks, he gets some cash out of his pocket, lays it down on the bar.

Still no mention about the phone.

He starts to leave, I say, hey, man. We’ve known each other for years. I think it’s time we exchanged numbers. He says, sure, sure. You got a piece of paper? I say, I’ll just give you my number, you can text me.

He says, ok. He pats down his front pockets. Huh. I don’t feel it in there. Sticks his hands in, nope, no phone. He checks his shirt pocket. Nope, not there. He starts to panic. What did I do with my phone? I milk it a little more. You don’t have your phone? What’d you do with it? He says, I dunno. Maybe I left it at the last bar I was at.

I grab the phone from behind me. You’re a dumbass, I say. You left it on the bar. He acts relieved. Damn. Thanks for keeping that for me, he says.

He gives me his number, because, why not? He leaves, I lock the door, and finish my cleaning.

-Clint

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