End of the night, guy comes up, calls me over. He looks, a bit…intoxicated. He slurs, I need my tab. I say, sure! What’s the first name on the tab? He says, Trimble. I say, is that the first name? He says, what? I say, we write down FIRST NAMES. What’s your FIRST name? He says, Daniel…Dan. Alright, I say. Daniel. Thanks.
I go over to the credit cards, scan the names. There’s a lot to go over. First round, nope. No Daniel or Dan. I look again, more carefully. Nope, not seeing it. Ok, one more time. I go name to name, carefully. No, not seeing it. I turn back to him, say, I don’t think I have your card. Did you run it? He says, I don’t think so. I call my fellow bartender over, say, did you run a tab for this guy? Daniel? He says, I ran his card. $14.
Ah…my fellow bartender is on it.
I say to the guy, dude. You ran your card already. We don’t have it.
He says, oh. He gets that look on his face, staring off into the distance, replaying the last few hours of his night.
He says, you’re probably thinking, man, I wish this drunk asshole would get the fuck outta here.
I say, do you have ESP?
He thinks for a moment, then says, no.
Because that’s exactly what I was thinking.