Saturday, October 08, 2005

Just "Jack"

“Don’t talk to him, until he talks to you…”
“Huh? Aren’t you supposed to ask him what he wants to drink?”
“No. His moods are unpredictable. He’s a little prick who has manic moments---I think he’s on meds.”
“Who isn’t these days?”
I said, as the waitress was trying to give me tips on how to handle certain regulars.

Low and behold, Bob walks in and sits at the corner of the bar. He doesn’t make eye contact. I throw a coaster his way. Nothing is said. No eye-contact, just plain awkwardness. I had to. I had to test it out.

“So, would you like a drink?”
“I’m at a bar, what do you think?”
He answers back in a sarcastic little son of a bitch tone.
“I’ll have a chardonnay.”
“Coming right up.”
I said, as if he asked me nicely. I didn’t budge to his bi-polar moment, I just served.

Minutes later, a beautiful woman comes walking in. She walks over to Bob, kisses and hugs him, and then sits down. I throw a coaster her way.
“Hi, what can I get for ya?”
“I’ll hov’a umm, muhh, kay---rum and club.”
“Sure…”
I run over, and make her a rum and club soda. This is what I heard through that thick British accent. She seemed to be fumbling through her words as though she spoke another language, but she didn’t—it was English. The accent threw me off.

“Here ya go…are you hungry? Would you like to see a menu?”
“Wait! This is NOT what she ordered!”
Bob said, as he pushed the drink back into my direction.
“She said she wanted the Mount Gay rum! Put that in a rocks glass too!” He said, all angry and upset.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, no problem!” I said to the woman, not making any eye contact with Bob any longer.

Usually, a rum and club comes in a little cocktail glass with a lemon wedge. Mount Gay is more like a cordial; a thick caramel color and is considered more upscale. I didn’t hear “Mount Gay”---I heard, ‘umm, muhh, kay’… To me was equivalent to, ‘Umm, okay—rum and club.”
Still with me?

So another aspect of my job; get a translator. Whatever.

Regulars that enter this bar look at me in a puzzled way. Why? Because I was ‘one of them’. I sat with these people, drinking and having fun---“on the other side”… Now, I was serving them. Perplexed and inquisitively confused, they all ask, “What gives?”

My very first day, this beautiful woman walks in there—alone. She’s tall, thin, has long dark curly hair down to her waist, and huge, gigantic, enormous, ……………………………………..teeth. Yeah, she has a huge chest too.

“Diet coke.”
“Sure!”

I nearly trip over myself trying to get this simple drink for her. Why was she ordering a diet coke at a bar like this? I was confused, but was more than willing to give her anything she requested. Eh-hem.

“Umm, this doesn’t taste like Jack.”
“Huh?”
“Is there Jack in here?”
“Oh! You wanted a Jack and coke!”
I said, fumbling over myself again, trying to jump up to reach the bottle of Jack Daniels for this beautiful woman. The bar was quite loud & boisterous that evening and I was apparently having major hearing problems. She laughed. She kept smiling at me.

“There ya go…so sorry about that, I’m deaf today, so just scream if you need me.”
Did I just tell her to scream for me?
“You’re cute.”
She said I was cute! Yeah yeah yeah! Woo hoo! I’m cute! HUH? Naw, she can’t be gay. Is she? I looked over as she was gleaming at me while her straw was so lucky to be placed between her two full lips… Ugh, I’m in trouble. I have a ring on, I have a ring on, I have a ring on…

Ah, it’s quitting time, and a pretty girl came to relieve me---- (of my shift of course). I sign out of the complicated computerized cash register and grab my jar full of tips. I look over, and this gorgeous Jack & coke chick is tapping her hand on a stool, indicating she wanted me to sit with her. Hmm. Okay.

“Have a drink with me. You’re off of work, right? I’m Nadine.”
“Yeah. Sure I’ll have a drink with you---my name is Debbie…”
“Nerrr, nerrrr, now ain't she a mightay’ fiiiine bartender?”
A man said, dressed in his Harley Davidson attire.
“She certainly is.” She replies.

~“Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am—stuck in the middle with you…”~

What did I get myself into? A gorgeous woman to the left, and a hillbilly Harley dude to the right of me, and I’m absolutely caught between a rock and a hard place. I was stuck. I wanted to go home. This guy was going to ruin my special encounter with this woman.

“Wanna see my tattoo of the World Trade Center?” She asks.
“Hell yeah!”
The Harley man pipes up—interjecting my ‘hell yeah’…
She lifts up her short mini skirt, and it was a memorial piece that was done beautifully. Mr. Hillbilly Harley man had to put his bifocals on before viewing this peep show. I guess this gave me an advantage. Ha, nimrod!

Four beers later, and bullshitting about work and other normal crap you talk about when meeting someone for the first time, she hands me her card and phone number. She does hair—so I asked her if she would do my hair… Yes…only ‘my hair’.

I left, and she kept returning to my bar the same time. I didn’t call. I felt weird. There she was, again, at the end of the bar with some other guy. Totally not her speed though---he was such an opposite of her. They sat together at the end, as I was finishing off some drinks that the waitresses desperately needed for their customers.

I fling two coasters at the end.
“Diet coke again?” I said, laughing at my previous mistake.
“Haha! You know what I want.” She says, but in a weird tone as she stared me up and down---almost raping me with her eyes. OH GOD I am so in trouble! I almost forgot to ask what her boyfriend wanted.
“O’Doules.”
Ah! Another advantage for me! He’s a quitter! A non-drinker! She can’t be with someone like that!
“Deb, this is my boyfriend Craig.”
“Hi Craig.”
I said—as if I were saying it in unison with a bunch of people sitting on steel chairs in an AA meeting.

A boyfriend. Hmm. Not gay. Or--bi? I was trying to figure this one out.

Again, I fumbled making her a drink. She had me nervous! She was staring at me. I felt her eyes on me. It was actually kinda hot. I glanced over as I was pouring her jack, her eyes were still locked on me. It was very obvious, and a bit overwhelming for me. I then placed her drink in front of her as she wrapped those beautiful lips around the straw. I popped open an O’Doules for the lovely quitter she had sitting next to her.

“Hungry? Do you want a menu?”
“Ohhh, I’m staaaarvvvvving…I’ll have the chicken fingers.”
She replies.
“Starving—and you only want an appetizer?” I asked.
”He won’t eat with me. I would get something more, but I want someone to be able to eat with me too.”

LOSER!... Why aren’t you eating with this gorgeous girl? Forget about that—why aren’t you drinking with her? She feels left out. Alone. Thrown aside to his ‘I’m fixing myself’ attitude’.

There she was. The girl who relieves me from my shift. It was quitting time. I look over at Nadine who was still giving me that ‘look’, that ‘stare’---that, ‘COME HOME WITH ME TONIGHT’ gleam.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Nadine, and a pleasure meeting you, Craig.” I said, indicating I was leaving.
“Ohhhh, you’re leaving?” She says, in this whiney kinda sexy voice. She then grabbed my arm.
“Stay.”

I fumble again. I start to stutter.

“Err, umm, ahh, muhh--kay.” Sounding much like the woman who tried to order her Mount Gay rum. This wasn’t working.
“I really can’t, as much as I would love to. Come back to see me soon! You still have to cut my hair!”
“And you still have yet to call me.”
She says, with a tiny wink, letting me know it wasn’t going to be just a haircut.

Before you all go on yelling at me for flirting—I told Madelene about my encounter with this woman. She already knows this is for ‘tipping purposes’, however I didn’t get to see what she tipped me, because the girl relieved me of my shift. She had to tip the next girl. I ran out of there too quickly. Am I going to call her? Maybe. For a haircut. Yeh.

Karma. I totally believe in it. Before I left the bar, a previous bartender who used to serve me at that very same bar, gave me a huge tip—as I did for her when she was serving me. That made my whole night. She remembered. She also remembered my drinks.

“Kettle shot, and a Beck’s!”

I’m tired. My back hurts, and my feet are pulsing right now. I have a heating pad on my back, and I am about to take some ibuprofens for the pain. If you look at the time stamp, umm, a bit late, or should I say—a bit early? I can’t sleep, so I decided to blog. Madelene is getting up in a little while to go to work, while I look forward to spending my rainy weekend in front of my large plasma TV watching Lifetime movies.

Life is good!

Anyway—I need some suggestions… How do I handle this girl? Should I call her for a haircut? Should I ‘not’ call, and make her keep running to my bar? Should I play “Yeah come and git’me” while there is no intentions of 'gittin' any'?

What are your thoughts?