So my personality type basically prohibits me from working a singular profession 40 (or more) hours per week. I prefer to keep things new and interesting. Obviously “new and interesting” is far away from a cubicle office. I do understand how some people find comfort in the 40 hour office gig. At times I often wish I could be OK doing this. But I just can’t. I’ve tried.
One of my income producers is bartending. “New and interesting” this is on a nightly basis no doubt about it. I truly enjoy this job and can envision myself doing it for a lifetime regardless of my income level if for no other reason than enjoyment of the job. I could probably blog about this profession and it’s happenings alone, but to date I never have. Tonight that all changes.
Let me state this - although for my faithful readers I truly shouldn’t have to: None of this is made up. This is exactly how it played out. Truth is truly awesome and hysterical shit at times.
Her name is Marya. She insists it is pronounced like Mariah. Whatever. Her and the husband come in somewhat frequently when I work. They are fond of the amount of liquor they receive in the drinks I pour (as are all my customers I’d guess). They are about as country and white trash as you can get, with one exception - the husband understands the concept of tipping. Despite being a redneck misplaced at a bar that rednecks normally aren’t found, he tips just as well as the fat cats. His friends still haven’t figured this out so they get McCormick Vodka while he gets double Grey Goose. Mayra has always been a flirt, but a harmless flirt because hubby is there to keep her in check. For the first time tonight hubby wasn’t around. Uh-oh.
She starts with her harmless flirting but it quickly escalates. This women is on a mission tonight and it involves me. It starts with those stupid little winks. Everybody has gotten these winks before so I know you know what I am talking about. I guess they worked because I knew exactly what she meant, but they also backfired because I didn’t want any part of it and her repeated eye convulsions weren’t helping her bring sexy back. But I’m a bartender tonight. I’m paid to make sure the customer leaves happy and plans to return. So although I did absolutely nothing to encourage her behavior, let alone respond in kind, I also did nothing to discourage it. OK so maybe I encouraged it just a little. That is until she lunges across the bar and grabs a hold of my shirt. I stand my ground but with the seems and buttons throughout my dress shirt ready to tear out I’m left with two choices.
Choice A: Allow this women to pull me forward. Awaiting me merely 24 inches from my present position is an open mouth with tongue sticking out. I’m guessing it is meant to engage with my mouth and tongue.
Choice B: Continue to resist her attack, praying the whole time that my shirt was worth the money I paid for it, and accept the possibility that I may become topless in mere seconds.
I realize I haven’t described Mayra to you yet. This won’t take long. Prototype country chick with hair that hasn’t been taken care of in years. Actually she pretty much doesn’t give a shit about one aspect of her appearance. Mother of 5 and it shows in the hips. She might be nocturnal because she clearly hasn’t seen daylight in eons. Glasses with coke bottle glass as a lens. Lest we forget the two large moles on her face, one of which is due for a trim. These hairs are especially easily viewed because it lies near her eye and is basically magnified by her glasses. Yeah… thanks for the birds-eye view.
At this point I must toss out some props to George Foreman dress shirts - the house brand at Big and Tall stores. The shirt held and I was spared kissing this women.
She gets dejected by this. Although I’m certainly OK with this, I can’t have her leaving angry. More or less it’s all about the tip. Her bill is already approaching $100 of liquor which is not anything out of the norm and these people are always good tippers. I need them liking me and coming back to see me (for the record she tipped me half of what her husband normally would so mental note: hubby pays from now on). So I explain to her that her behavior is recorded by the multiple cameras on me and if the owners see it I could likely be fired and that’s why I can’t be kissing her. Clearly I shouldn’t have said this… it gave her hope.
She asks if she could send me pictures to my phone of herself. Clearly this is an attempt to get my phone number (of which she has already repeatedly asked for but been denied). This time I’m quiet curious. What kind of pics will this drunky send me? So I give up my digits.
“PG-13, R, or X rated,” she asks.
Was this really a question? Do I really need to answer? Don’t be wasting my time with anything less. “X rated will do just fine,” I say. Now let’s see just how drunk Mayra is.
Yep, really drunk. Four pictures arrive into my Blackberry which truly I didn’t need to ever see. I’ll spare details, unlike her, but let me just say that in these four pictures absolutely nothing was left to question. Well, maybe just one thing…. Is that the biggest damn cucumber I’ve ever seen or is that an eggplant?
OK now I’m flat out scared. I mean, I’m quite comfortable with my, ahhhh, size, but damn if I’m considering competing with a eggplant grown with Miracle Grow. I mean before the pics she was outside the scope of being helped by a shit ton of Capt’n but now I’m just purely mortified.
“Did you get my pics baby doll,” she asks.
Oh shit x 2. First, she has escalated to pet names. Second, just what in the fuck am I suppose to say about pics I’m not even willing to share with friends because I don’t want them thinking I have some sort of fetish about fat girls with huge vegetables.
“No I still haven’t gotten any. Maybe you sent them to the wrong phone. What number did you use?” Damn that was quick thinking.
She repeats my number perfectly.
“Oh you reversed the last 2 digits,” I said. “Just swap them and resend. Hopefully the people at the other number like what you sent.”
At this point she freaks out about someone other than me unknowingly recieiving her vegetarian photos. This truly was a stroke of genius on my part as she was in such a panic about this for the next couple minutes that she totally forgot to resend the pics and likely will wake in the morning thinking she had the wrong number.
Around about this time my section of the bar gets closed. I work at a huge place that has three separate bars each with multiple bartenders. My bar getting closed deeply concerns me as this chick is trying to wait for me to get off work. I have repeatedly told her I’ll leave long after 2am and she can’t wait for me, and so I can’t let her know I’ll be leaving soon. I make sure no employees are beginning closing duties around her until she is out the door. She is clearly on her way out soon but is waiting for one last opportunity to speak to me.
“I want you to be the first man I cheat on my husband with,” she says.
Right. Yep. I’m positive I’d be the first. And even by the remote chance it is truthful… geee, yeah, let me jump right at that opportunity. LOL. “I’m sorry, I don’t sleep with married women,” I say barely holding in my laughter with such a statement.
“Oh c’mon,” she says. “It won’t take long (proof that she hasn’t been with me) I just need you to fuck me.”
OK now I’m laughing. I don’t know if it’s at how pathetic she is in general, how drunk she is and slurring half her words, or just her pure lack of self respect in her drunken state. Nevertheless, I’m laughing and making no attempts to stop or hide it. ”I’m not going home with you and you aren’t going home with me.”
I’ll give her this much - she is persistent and dedicated to a cause. “You can’t go home with me. My husband is there. You just need to come out to the parking lot. My car is parked out there.”
More laughter. Nearly uncontrollable laughter. “I’m not fucking you in the parking lot of my employer” I said.
“Why?” she promptly retorts.
Why? Why!? Does this really need an answer? Probably not. But in this instance of course it does. By this point I’ve grown an audience from my fellow teenage bar-back who is loving every second of this conversation. “I don’t have any condoms with me” is my reply. I think this is a pretty good reply actually. It gives me an out, but doesn’t close the door. What will her volley be?
Oh boy. If only those 2 cameras pointed at me as I work came with audio. This is the stuff of legends.
Mayra responds, “who gives a fuck about condoms. After five kids my tubes are tied. You ain’t gettin me pregnant baby. Besides, if you cum anywhere besides on my face you’ll just have to do it all over again.”
At this point I just lost it. Really, how does one answer this? I’m just not witty enough. Hysterical laughter carried me away from the conversation and backroom. After calming down I reenter the bar and Mayra is still present and awaiting me. I keep it simple and while biting my lip say, ”Mayra I simply do not sleep with married women and will not compromise my integrity. I’m sorry.” With this I bid her farewell and she leaves alone and dejected accompanied by a lady friend with her husband. After a few steps away the husband turns back, approaches me, and speaks.
“Holy shit dude how do I get a job bartending? You must pull so much ass out of this place it’s insane. How much ass do you get? Wow I can’t imagine. You get so much ass that you can push away a chick like Mayra without second thought! How many do you have waiting for you tonight? My man!” With that he awards me with a high five and sprints to catch up to the ladies before I can even digest what just took place.
Sometimes you just have to wonder if stupid people have it better in this world.
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