Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Somehow I knew all this yoga would come in handy. Not only just to perform acrobatic feats to get the good stuff on the top shelf since they still haven't bought my step stool. And not just for my big scary muscular arms and back so I look like I mean business at last call, but mostly I think it's my inner sense of calm that usually is for when it gets super busy during happy hour. But Monday, it was for something else. I had to 86 the largest man that I've seen in a long time. He had come in before we opened and so therefore directed him to other local watering holes. Sure enough, at 9ish he comes barreling through the door and orders a vodka cranberry. I've always been weary of people who hide their alcohol with easy flavorings. Give me a well crafted cocktail or something pure any day, say bourbon on the rocks, a glass of cava, but if you bury your alcohol, you're trying to hide or suppress something. He's wearing a button down shirt with his employers logo---not great advertising for an institute I admire and I wonder what he does and how they hired someone who leers at ladies sitting at a bar. The woman to his right has already asked for her check and is taking her dinner to her room. This leaves him to my regulars. He's crowding and loud and at this point his has a twenty out and wants another round. At which point I tell him (and the other fellow on the other side who have managed to get in a loud conversation over said regular ladies) that they need to behave like gentlemen and let the ladies enjoy their girl time. He starts to deny that he was bothering them but they still protest and so calmly I say that I'm sorry but I'm not going to serve him another drink and I hand him the tab. And happily ever after he pays without tipping and walks out into the full moon night and I breathe easy, a breath worth so much more than the two dollar tip I could have received.