Sunday, June 22, 2008

I Love The Bartender...

So I recently noticed that I have a problem.

And it involves alcohol.

Fortunately for me, I'm not an alcoholic. But I have taken note of a problem that I have when dealing with female bartenders. No matter how attractive or scantily clad she is or isn't. No matter how good her drinks really taste. No matter how much I come in prepared to spend on alcohol. Female bartenders always convince me to open a tab. Once that tab is opened, they always convince me to buy more drinks by simply smiling at me and giving me the opportunity to whisper (READ: shout) sweet nothings into their ear while trying to place my order.

The same thing happened on Friday night when I was forced to place orders with a cute multi-racial bartender who had a seemingly life-size tattoo on her exposed arm. It was a tattoo of something that will undoubtedly be meaningless and regretful within the next 8 years. She had a enough piercings to let me know that she lived life on the edge. But she also packed an angelic smile that told me that deep down inside, she's as sensitive as a recently divorced woman cutting onions for the first time since she removed her wedding ring.

The cute bartender did a marvelous job of drawing me in up front. She told me that it would be easier to keep a tab open even if I didn't plan on drinking that much. She also told me that I should come directly to her each time I ordered so that none of the other douche bags in the club would come up to the bar and pretend to be me. She also smiled at me each time I placed an order. The more liquor I had, the more I was convinced that she wanted to come home with me and make more multi-racial children.

At the close of the night, I found myself to be on the receiving end of a pretty hefty tab. A tab hefty enough to preclude the possibility of me following up a Friday night on the town with a Saturday night on the town. And in a last shot effort to make her realize that aside from my drunken glare, I was really in love with her, I asked her if there was any way to guarantee that the tip I left would go directly to her. Much to my dismay she countered by stating that my tip would be shared by her and the two other male bartenders who weren't nearly as cute as her.

I left a handsome tip anyway.

But the point being, female bartenders play with my emotions. Especially when the are showing cleavage and/or have a nice smile. I should focus my energies on placing orders from rude male bartenders who would rather take orders from women than men. That way, when it takes me 45 minutes to order a simple Jack and coke, I won't be too inclined to leave my tab open in hopes of waiting another 45 minutes to order my customary Cosmo.

T-Pain was right though, I love the bartender (if and only if said bartender is a woman)...

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