It was a Dark & Stormy Night; that was the name of the drink he received from the tall, thin blonde with over-sized round glasses. She smiled as she handed it to him. He assumed it was an attempt for a better tip and not an attempt to make an actual human connection. He hadn't had one of those--an actual human connection--for some time, so he wouldn't know what it looked like anyways.
As he sipped the drink, he put a $20 bill on the bar. Not too long ago, he would've waited for change, but he'd come to the conclusion that he'd rather be broke than be looked at like a pariah. He wouldn't have enough money for a cab, but he wanted to walk home tonight anyway. It's not like anyone was waiting for him.
He took the drink and moved from the bar, his back facing the blonde bartender as she asked about his plans for the night. She hoped the others at the bar didn't witness her embarrassment. It seemed the guys she wanted to talk to never felt the same, and every guy she didn't want to talk to felt an unstoppable urge to converse with her for the entirety of her shift.
The man reached the open stool in the corner of the bar and placed his drink on the counter that ran the length of the wall. As he placed it on the coaster with a local brewery's logo, he heard the first notes of Taylor Swift's new song playing loudly overhead.
He was dumbfounded. This was a bar. For adults. Why was this happening? He looked around the crowded, small space. In the opposite corner there was a digital jukebox, with a group of 5-6 young men in baseball caps with college names embroidered on the front, drinking beers and laughing loudly. Two were mouthing the lyrics as one belted out every other word.
He couldn't tell if the guys were truly enjoying the song, or if it was "ironic," but either way, it was beginning to make him gag. He swallowed the knot in his throat, a physical embodiment of the anger he felt brewing inside, then sucked down the rest of his drink. He waked to the bar and put his empty glass down. The bartender asked, "Another round, handsome?" but once again, her words went unnoticed by their intended target as he walked towards the door.
"Sure, I'll have another one, sexy," a middle aged man with an unkempt mustache and eyebrows that stuck out in every direction said as he jiggled the ice in his glass in her direction. She heard the door closing, sighed and went to make another Screwdriver for Eyebrows. As she walked to the end of the bar to take a glass from the shelf, the other bartender, Stinky Steve (the busboys weren't that clever with their nicknames, but they were accurate) walked behind her, forcing her to turn to the side to fit through the narrow area behind the bar. She faced him as he passed and leaned backwards so her breasts wouldn't rub against him; she knew what he was doing and wasn't going to give him the pleasure. She told her boss about his obnoxious behavior plenty of times, but apparently Stinky Steve was related to a family member.
"Excuse me, hon," Stinky Steve said as he passed, lifting his arm towards the shelf, grazing her shirt but not making the contact he desired. A clear look of dissatisfaction crossed his face.
The man who chugged the Dark and Stormy stepped outside into the crisp, early winter air. He muttered to himself, "Really, that's the fucking song you choose? There's other people at the bar, you know. Assholes."
He walked a few paces and took deep breaths, letting the cold air fill his lungs. His mood started to improve as he thought about the blonde bartender.
"That drink was damn good, though. That bartender..." his mind wandered off to a warmer locale, where the sun beamed down on him and the blonde bartender, enjoying drinks with umbrellas in them by the ocean. It was the first pleasant thought he'd had in weeks. A vague semblance of a smile crept onto the corner of his mouth.
Then he remembered the Swift fans. He literally growled, startling the older woman walking past him carrying plastic grocery bags (she avoided grocery stores in the day to avoid dealing with crowds; the downside was that she had to deal with the growlers at night). She tightened her grip on the bags and quickened her pace. She loved this town, but wasn't sure how long she could put up with its residents.
--
I Love You All...Class Dismissed.
As he sipped the drink, he put a $20 bill on the bar. Not too long ago, he would've waited for change, but he'd come to the conclusion that he'd rather be broke than be looked at like a pariah. He wouldn't have enough money for a cab, but he wanted to walk home tonight anyway. It's not like anyone was waiting for him.
He took the drink and moved from the bar, his back facing the blonde bartender as she asked about his plans for the night. She hoped the others at the bar didn't witness her embarrassment. It seemed the guys she wanted to talk to never felt the same, and every guy she didn't want to talk to felt an unstoppable urge to converse with her for the entirety of her shift.
The man reached the open stool in the corner of the bar and placed his drink on the counter that ran the length of the wall. As he placed it on the coaster with a local brewery's logo, he heard the first notes of Taylor Swift's new song playing loudly overhead.
He was dumbfounded. This was a bar. For adults. Why was this happening? He looked around the crowded, small space. In the opposite corner there was a digital jukebox, with a group of 5-6 young men in baseball caps with college names embroidered on the front, drinking beers and laughing loudly. Two were mouthing the lyrics as one belted out every other word.
He couldn't tell if the guys were truly enjoying the song, or if it was "ironic," but either way, it was beginning to make him gag. He swallowed the knot in his throat, a physical embodiment of the anger he felt brewing inside, then sucked down the rest of his drink. He waked to the bar and put his empty glass down. The bartender asked, "Another round, handsome?" but once again, her words went unnoticed by their intended target as he walked towards the door.
"Sure, I'll have another one, sexy," a middle aged man with an unkempt mustache and eyebrows that stuck out in every direction said as he jiggled the ice in his glass in her direction. She heard the door closing, sighed and went to make another Screwdriver for Eyebrows. As she walked to the end of the bar to take a glass from the shelf, the other bartender, Stinky Steve (the busboys weren't that clever with their nicknames, but they were accurate) walked behind her, forcing her to turn to the side to fit through the narrow area behind the bar. She faced him as he passed and leaned backwards so her breasts wouldn't rub against him; she knew what he was doing and wasn't going to give him the pleasure. She told her boss about his obnoxious behavior plenty of times, but apparently Stinky Steve was related to a family member.
"Excuse me, hon," Stinky Steve said as he passed, lifting his arm towards the shelf, grazing her shirt but not making the contact he desired. A clear look of dissatisfaction crossed his face.
The man who chugged the Dark and Stormy stepped outside into the crisp, early winter air. He muttered to himself, "Really, that's the fucking song you choose? There's other people at the bar, you know. Assholes."
He walked a few paces and took deep breaths, letting the cold air fill his lungs. His mood started to improve as he thought about the blonde bartender.
"That drink was damn good, though. That bartender..." his mind wandered off to a warmer locale, where the sun beamed down on him and the blonde bartender, enjoying drinks with umbrellas in them by the ocean. It was the first pleasant thought he'd had in weeks. A vague semblance of a smile crept onto the corner of his mouth.
Then he remembered the Swift fans. He literally growled, startling the older woman walking past him carrying plastic grocery bags (she avoided grocery stores in the day to avoid dealing with crowds; the downside was that she had to deal with the growlers at night). She tightened her grip on the bags and quickened her pace. She loved this town, but wasn't sure how long she could put up with its residents.
--
I Love You All...Class Dismissed.
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