It’s martini night, around 10:30, I’m picking up glasses from the tables. You know, it’s awesome when people bring up their martini glasses from their table, put it on the bar for me. Why not? You’re done with your martini, you’re coming up to the bar to get another one, bring up the empty one! Unless you like looking at your empty martini glass.
And when I go up to the table, there’s a swig left, I mean, we’re talking 4 drops of a Pomefresh martini, I always have to ask, like a little bitch, are you done with that? No, no, not done. Ok, whatever. Enjoy the backwash.
But all that has nothing to do with my story. Just thought I’d intro it out.
I’ve got a handful of martinis, a blond chick comes up to the bar, I’m assuming to get a drink. She’s cute, bleach blond, short hair, real short on the sides. A Miley Cyrus cut, but growing out a bit.
No, wait. Let me back up. I messed that up. There’s a lull, I finish putting the glasses down on the bar, I never do this, but I sit down at one of the chairs at the bar. The moment I sit my ass down, the blond chick comes up to the bar. Oh shit. Whatever. Back to work. I start to get up, she turns to me, says, no, no. Sit down. I say, no, I probably shouldn’t. I see my fellow bartender is helping another customer. I never like to make a customer wait if I can help it. She says, let’s sit down together and have a chat. Wow. Ok. A bit out of my comfort zone here. Sit down next to her and talk? Huh. What a strange idea. I’m serious. I was thrown off a bit. You know what? What the hell. Let’s sit down and chat.
We sit down, start talking. She opens with, how you doing? I say, actually, my arms are really sore. I can barely lift them. She says, why’s that? I say, well…it’s kind of a lame reason. I played racquetball yesterday, and really messed myself up. It was a grueling game. I think I’m too old for that shit. She says, you couldn’t be older than me. I say, yes, I probably am. How old are you? I ask. She says, 31. I say, that’s child’s play. I’m 42. She says, that’s ok.
We talk for awhile longer. Wow. I’m kind of enjoying this conversation. It feels real to me. It’s in front of the bar. It’s hard to describe. Strangely, I haven’t sat at the bar and talked to someone in quite awhile. Happens when you’re sober.
A couple customers step up to get their martinis, I say, I gotta go, thanks for the conversation. She says, no problem.
I help her, she takes off, onto the next.
Later on, about an hour later, this brunette, with really curly hair, comes up, says, I need a cup of water. My friend’s in the bathroom sick. I don’t know why she felt compelled to tell me this.
Wait, back up. 50 minutes after my conversation with the blond, she comes up, asks for her tab. But she’s acting really weird, like we never had any kind of conversation. She’s not smiling, she’s got no warmth in her face. Guess our chat didn’t really mean anything to her. I run her tab, say, enjoyed our conversation, nice to meet you. She doesn’t really respond, just signs her tab, walks off.
Back to the brunette.
She asks for a cup of water for her friend. She’s in the bathroom, getting sick. I say, is she puking? She gives me a sheepish grin. Yeah, that means yes. I say, could she PLEASE keep it as clean as possible and do it in the toilet? She says, I’ll make sure she does.
10 minutes go by, I go out to pick up more glasses. I see the blond, at the table, with her head down, and the brunette sitting next her. Oh really. It was her that got sick, drank too much?
You know, at this moment, I had a lot of emotions swirling about in my interior. That sounds weird, I know, but it’s true. What I thought was a person getting real with me, turned out to be just some drunk chick. What I thought was a girl wanting to get to know me, the real me, sit down at the bar, have a conversation, was just some girl getting outgoing because of the booze.
I go back to the bar, disappointed.
15 minutes later, the brunette comes up, says, I think my friend just vomited on the floor up there. I say, oh great. She says, do you have a mop?
She’s kind enough to clean it up for me. She brings the mop and the mop bucket back, and
I watch her friend Miley Cyrus stumble out of the bar, with puke dripping down her lips.
What a wrecking ball.