There needs to be an official rule for guys in bars. And that rule needs to be as follows: The Hot Chick Bartender is Not Going to Fuck You.
Seriously.
And I'm the worst offender. Seven "black and tans" and I'm drooling over the lassie behind the bar, telling her for the umpteenth time that I'm mad crazy about her and want to start a family with her or at the very least, bury my head between her legs for a good half hour. And when I stop to take a sip or breathe or vomit, there are six other guys who chime in with the same platitudes.
See, the bartender is the only woman in the bar who has to talk to us guys. At least, she has to acknowledge us. No one else has any such obligation. So the bartender hears it. And if she's ridiculously hot, like our friend in the photo above, she hears it non-stop, start of the shift right up to last call. Drunken buffoons in our Banana Republic shirts, thinking we can score the hottie who's working the tap. Or that we're the first guy in the world who's told her that joke or complimented her on her ridiculously tight, round ass. Or that we're the only dude she's ever shown that tattoo.
But in the end, it's always the same. Her Levi's get stuffed with tips. I walk out with nothin' but a headache. And a raging hard-on. And it's go home, puke, take the intravenous Vitamin C, H2O and aspirin elixir, then come back again tomorrow.
Because I'm sure she'll eventually cave.
5 comments:
*laughs* How can she say no to you Ken.. I just don't get it!
My friends can't believe I 'let' my husband go to strip clubs. Why should I care...the same scenario occurs there as with the female bartender.
Love this post!
You are right on both counts:
1. A barmaid's job does indeed make her immune to advances from her clientele (back in my beverage-slinging days, I, for one, would talk to anything as long as it tipped)
2. The girl in the picture really does have a wonderful derriere.
Go back tomorrow. Who knows? She may cave. She's only human, and you are an Irishman after all...
Ken, if the bartenders you've been hitting on have asses like that I feel your pain dude.
Good luck with it the next time you hit the bar. I'm sure your winning charm and incredible wit will have her dropping her pants for you at some point in the very, very far future.
Dare to dream I always say.
So true. Thing is, with each drink we delude ourselves into thinking we might be that special customer that draws that twinkle in her eye and a little fire down below. When the reality is that we'll get lumped in with all the other losers she jokes about with her friends...Wish I'd learned that lesson a long time ago.
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