"I can't believe what you say, 'cause I see what you do."
11 February 2010 at 4:26 pm
“I’m sorry I said those things earlier.”
“It’s ok, I’m a bartender. I’m used to being offended.”
He laughs—I was supposed to say, “I can’t be offended.” But I am, all the time. This didn't even happen at the bar; it happened at the office, when the married guy declared himself a horrible flirt and thought that gave him permission to do so. I did what I do in those situations: stare blankly, and walk away. I refuse to dignify that behavior with a response.
I am constantly offended at the bar, of course. Once, someone threw $5 at me and told me to take off my shirt. I stood there with my hand on my hip and pointed to the door. I still take offense to the verbal affronts, but I try to plus it.
Standing behind the bar, slinking back and forth like a German Shepard on patrol, I only ever hear snippets of conversation. Sometimes, they’re funny:
“Were you there for his dick-in-a-box phase?” some guy says to his friends while I’m clearing their glasses.
“Wasn’t everyone?” I throw back. It doesn't even make that much sense, and really isn't funny at all, but that's the nice thing about entertaining drunk people: they want to laugh, and will, at anything.
Like the Australian guy, who asked for water in a plea to avoid "[getting] as drunk as I usually do.” At some point, he enunciates very clearly, “Thank the heavens for girls with low self-esteem.”
In my head, I say, “On behalf of all those girls, go fuck yourself,” but I just used that line on the guys next to them. People laugh when I, all dolled up with patient smiles, tell them to go fuck themselves, and I love it because I get to say what I mean and people don’t think I’m a bitch; they think I’m funny.
Instead, I turn off my sweet smile and glare. I glare, and I walk away, still facing the asshat to maintain the glare while my body continues on to the next drinker.
Later, after he switched back to beer:
“I’m sorry I said that before. I’m really not that bad,” he insists.
“You’re only as bad as the things that you say,” I tell him, which isn't funny, but he laughs anyway. I walk away quickly. That's the nice thing about working around drunk people; there's always someone else that needs tending to.
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