The hits just keep on coming, folks. If you want to catch up on the earlier tips, you can go to them here: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, and XII. Did I get those right? I haven’t done roman numerals in a long time. But the Super Bowl is coming up and that’s basically the only time you ever see roman numerals so I figured I would get in the spirit. Go sports.
So you guys. We have made it all the way to 13 tips. When I first started doing these lo these many years ago, I figured I would have five, maybe six, tips. But no. People just keep upping their game. They keep fucking up, and I keep writing about it. This might turn out to have as many tips as Sue Grafton has mystery novels. Only time will tell.
So over the past number of years that I have worked behind the same bar, I have had this reoccurring nightmare of people walking behind the bar. It’s like, I’m there, working, and I can’t seem to get to people fast enough. There are barely any people there and they order relatively simple things, but I just can’t seem to put them across the bar in any reasonable amount of time. I just sort of wander around, looking for things, spilling, forgetting. And then, they come. One after another after another people just start filing behind the bar so I am left trying to make drinks while shooing people away. It’s awful. Thankfully, that has never happened in real life. Well, until a few weeks ago.
It was a normal Sunday. I had sports on. So, this trio came in, one girl and two guys. The guy must have been married to the girl because he had a picture of her as the background of his debit card. I thought that was weird and decided that if I ever get to a point in my life where I think that is a reasonable thing to do I will pack up some belongings and move into a cave for however long it takes for me to figure out exactly where everything went so horribly wrong. The guy ordered three “beers.”
Eye roll.
I told him I wasn’t really sure what he meant by that and asked what kind of beer he generally likes. In a surprising turn of events he decided upon the hoppiest thing we had on tap. Those beers went unfinished. Oh well. The reason that I give you all these seemingly inane details is that I had already kind of pegged this group as a little off. Not that they did anything wrong, but just that I had to be prepared for the potentiality of weirdness. I actually kind of like that. I mean, normal, more or less predictable people are great but every once in a while it is nice to throw some weird in there. Keep things interesting. Anyway, it was one of those days where I had a pretty full bar but all the drinkers were really pacing themselves. So even though I had lots of people in there, I had very little to do. I paced. I made awkward comments to no one in particular. I washed a few glasses. I received a text message! Before responding I did a quick walk around the bar, checking to make sure everyone was sufficiently drinked (they were) and I settled down to respond to the text which was, as it turns out, hilarious. I have a lot of funny friends. For those who don’t know, I work in a long bar. I think we probably have something like 24 seats at the bar? Maybe more? Anyway, I was standing in the middle of the bar with my back to the backdoor when all of a sudden I hear a small little “excuse me…?” and a tap, tap, tap on my shoulder.
Oh. My. God. I froze. I whipped around and made a face that looked like this squirrel which I know I have used before but whatever I don’t care. I am this squirrel and no, Aaron, 2008 cannot have its meme back, it is mine. So this woman, obviously a member of the weird crew, had walked like 10-12 feet behind the bar and what did she want? What in the world could have been so pressing at that very moment that she couldn’t have (a) asked me for it like 30 seconds earlier when I had checked on her group, (b) waited another 30 seconds for me to walk back to where she was standing, or (c) walk on the other side of the bar, where she belonged, and say “excuse me” over the piece of wood separating us that isn’t, I have learned, a force field that disallows me from hearing what happens on the other side. In fact, I would say that that piece of wood actually intensifies sound, making me able to hear orders from a ways away while my back is turned and I am having a conversation with someone else over my right shoulder. What she wanted was a piece of chalk to mark down her score from darts.
…………
There she was, behind the bar waving a piece of chalk in my face and repeating the word “chalk” while she pointed at it because clearly I have no idea what chalk is. So obviously I got mad.
Lady, waving the chalk.
Me: Get out from behind my bar.
Lady, still waving the chalk.
Me: Seriously, get the fuck out from behind my bar.
Lady, now seriously confused but still doggedly waving the chalk.
Me: This is unreal. Under no circumstance do you ever walk behind someone’s bar. Ever. Get out from behind the bar. Now. And no, you cannot have any goddamn chalk!
I was really mad. I felt like I was dealing with a toddler only this toddler was a little bit taller than me, really stupid, and badly in need of a writing implement. Oh, and she was hurling pointy things through the air which, I have to tell you, did not make me feel confident in my safety. The woman-child who, for those who have forgotten, is featured as the background of her husband’s debit card, spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure out why I was so mad and why she couldn’t have any chalk. She then went back to happily hurling things.
Oh and, by the way, she barely even touched her half pint of whatever the hell it was. It is possible that she was on drugs or had been drinking somewhere else but I don’t know. I have served a lot of drunk and drugged out people and they have never walked behind the bar. I guess she could have just been stupid but I have also served a lot of stupid people and they also haven’t ever walked behind the bar. So I don’t know. This one is a mystery to me. But I am happy to know that, thanks to all those nightmares over the years, I was more than prepared to handle this particular interloper. Oh psyche, you have outdone yourself yet again.
franklyrebekah 
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