DON'T MESS WITH THE FORMER BAR GIRL
Tonight E and I met our friend G for some beers at a local bar in Brooklyn. G is husband to one of my best friends. Going out with him is like hanging out with my best friend just once removed and minus all the hummus and US Weekly mags.
C was working. She works in a bar among her many other talents and commitments. It is a hard job and every weekend despite knowing her schedule for years I call her on the same night each week leaving the same annoying message, 'Hey, want to join us for drinks at a loud bar?' Duh.
Working in a bar is a hard and an annoying job. I know because I've done it before. In my case I was required to wear tiny, inappropriate clothing and pretend I liked people. It wasn't a good fit for me on many levels. First of all, anyone that knows me knows I get grouchy and tired after 9PM. My nickname in college was 'It's bedtime'. (You think I'm kidding) My 3am shifts were killing me. There were times my boss would find me leaning against a wall like a horse - asleep while standing.
I hated being called 'Miss' and being poked in the ribs. I hated the credit card machine and chasing after drunk people to be sure they signed the slip. I hated not knowing drinks as well as I should have so when someone ordered a 'Texas Mexican, dry with two O's' I'd walk away annoyed thinking, 'Couldn't you just order a frickin' Stella?' I especially hated the chicks. The chicks that ordered sticky, smelly, liquid Jolly Rancher cosmos with a sugar rim. For each cosmo I served, I wanted to personally ruin each and every one of their lives by telling them Sex and The City was no longer in production.
I alse hated the leery men. The men that asked for my number. The men that asked if I had a boyfriend. The men that would call me over to their table 'just to see my pretty face'. Ugh. The men that had the nerve to ask me what I was doing 'after my shift'. After my shift asshole? After my shift I'll be on my hands and knees at 3am in a dress custom made for Anna Nicole Smith - mopping up the VOMIT your drunk, frat boy buddy left as a gift for me on the bar floor. But hey...when I'm done I'll give you a call.
Eventually we finished up our drinks and walked outside. I trailed behind E and G as G finshed up his amusing story about being nicknamed 'glass jaw' by his fellow Canadian hockey teammates due to all the injuries he suffered throughout the year.
And then it happened. As we stood outside among a pack of annoying frat guys that were neither coming or going, I got hit with the number one flashback from my working in a bar days. A grown man's hand on my right butt cheek giving it a squeeze.
K: EXCUSE ME! Did you just put your hand on my ass?
FB#1: Ah..no. (hahahaha-nudge friend)
K: ASSHOLE. I'm talking to you. Did you just touch me?
(E and G not having seen this walk up wondering what was happening)
FB#2: Leave him alone. He's drunk.
K: FU buddy. How about he leaves ME alone because he's drunk.
FB#1: (still laughing)
E: What's going on here?
K: This asshole grabbed my butt.
E: You did what?
FB#3: Dude, it's cool. My buddy is drunk. Sorry about that. He thought it was me.
K: So you're telling me your buddy thought my ass was yours.
K: Oh Ok. Now I get it. Give me a break.
FB#1: It was just a brush up.
K: Oh really? Excuse me but I think it was MY ASS. You think I'd know.
K: Let me ask you something (in the face of the guy) do you have a sister?
K: How about a mother? Do you have mom?
FB#1: Um...yeah...I mean...
K: Would you like a strange man to grab her ass?
FB#3: It's cool. It's cool. We are really sorry. Really.
K: Ok. Well then think about that and don't do this to women.
Then we parted ways. The frat boys and their posse.
And me, E and glass jaw.