The Bartender

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It’s the summer before my first year in college. I am spending my time working two jobs in the hope of building up my bank account, and so far I’ve worked about two months as a hostess at a bar. Last Saturday, I was working a double and I walked in at noon. The bartender, who I will refer to as “Brian”, was sitting at the bar with his head down. When I walked in, he looked up, smugly grinned and flittered his fingers, as to say ‘hello’.

“How you doin’, Julia?”
“I’m great! How are you?”
“I’m drunk. I’ve been drunk since last night and I’ll probably be drunk for the rest of the day!”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“But, nonetheless, I will do my duties because I am a trained professional!”

I guess this was all too common for him.
The waitress working looked at me and mouthed “he’s drunk!

Don’t worry, though! He did in fact do his duties: making people just as drunk as he was.

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