Guy comes up to the bar, sits down. I say he’s late 40’s, early 50’s. It looks like his hair is bleached. He’s wearing one of those cheap hats you get in Las Vegas. You know, the ones with the see-thru green bill.
He says, I’m waiting for my pizza. Can I have a Coors Light? He’s slurring his words a bit, but not too bad. I say, sure. I get it for him, set it down, go help another customer.
People do this all the time. Across the street from us is a pizza place. They order a pizza over there, come over here, have a quick drink, then go back over when it’s ready. We help each other out. We don’t serve food, anybody asks for a late night snack, I send them over there. And we let them eat their pizza over here. I do hate having to clean up after them with those damn pizza boxes, but whatevs.
I bartend. It’s pretty slow actually. I’m dragging. Been a long day.
Half-hour goes by, I notice Vegas guy is just chatting it up with a guy. Huh. Maybe he forgot about his pizza. Well…not my prob.
Another fifteen minutes goes by, I go up to him, I say, your pizza must be getting cold by now. He says, yeah. Is it ready?
I say, probably.
He says, am I in the wrong place?