I have this great friend. Her name is Julie, but for reasons I won't get into, I refer to her as Flipper. She recently started a part time job bartending at her local American Legion. Because she has the same warped sense of humor as me, and in large part due to her scathing wit that she likes to claim is "in direct proportion to her bra size" and to which I replied, "Thank God mine's not because you can't friggin buy wit", I decided to ask, and she graciously agreed, that we post some of her better . . . encounters . . . . behind the bar here on the blog.
So whenever you see an entry with this title, you'll know that Flipper has had another busy week.
Names have been changed to protect the drunk as I can pretty much guarantee you that innocence has no place here.
AAAAAAAAAND, she's OFF!
Take it Flipper.
Things I Learned on my First Night Bartending:
“Hey honey, shake those up for me so I can hit the jackpot” - doesn’t necessarily mean they’re talking about pull-tab lottery tickets.
Bengals vs. Packers on Monday Night Football means some guy thinks he can say to me I’ll bet I can “Pack” your “Kitty”, but it also means I can reply, "honey I’ve coughed up hair balls bigger than you…".
Last call normally means one more drink and ya gotta go – not that you can be my last call of the night.
Things They Learned on my First Night Bartending:
If you’re gonna tell me your name is Donnie, don’t come in wearing a shirt with the name "Troy" scrawled across it, 'cause: a) I’ll assume you can’t read or b) ask you if you grabbed your boyfriend’s shirt off the floor instead of your own.
When I ask what you want, don’t think asking for my number will result in you receiving the number you’re looking for – what he got was one number that I happened to show him using my middle finger.
Just cause I’m new to you doesn’t mean I’m new…these boys have no idea who they’re dealing with…
Thus endeth the first installation of the Flipper Chronicals.
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