Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Chicklet Girl and the Purse Attack!
I know that I’ve mentioned my second job at the Village Idiot in passing many times. However, I have never truly gone into any further detail. Really, there isn’t usually much to tell, just your standard night at the bar. Occasionally we have to kick people out for being obnoxiously drunk , and every now and then break up a heated situation (I’ve never seen an actual punch thrown, much less a real fight, just idiots mouthing off) but nothing truly interesting had happened until last night.
As usual for a Tuesday night, I was barbacking for Moses and Brian. I have to say, other than the long hours (I usually don’t leave until 12:30 or 1:00 AM) Tuesday night is my easiest night. I bust my ass for about an hour hustling beer up the stairs three cases at a time, stocking the bar, and icing down the reserves for our Dollar Beer night (Budweiser and Bud Light are just a buck on Tuesdays.) Then, I just hang out for two or three hours, refilling ice and restocking cold beers as necessary until about 10:30 or 11:00. Then it’s show time. For some bizarre reason, people start streaming in the door at 10:30, and we get filled to capacity, if not more (just kidding, Mr. Fire Marshal! We never let more than 97 people in at once!) Frat boys are standing three and four deep at the bar, waving dollar bills in the air and trying desperately to look cool. On a side note: the best way to get us to serve you faster? Actually tip us, you douchebags. The beer is a dollar. If you buy six, and don’t leave a tip, we remember that kind of thing. And sweetheart, your ID says you’re 32? Why are you still wearing a sorority t-shirt? I agree, your breasts are perky. Now let me show you where the door is.
Anyway, back to my original story. Like I said, nothing too terribly unusual most nights. Last night was a bit of an exception. It was probably a bit past 9:00, and we were steady, but not busy yet. I was at my usual post, leaning against the Chicklet machine, talking to the cooks and waitresses and in plain view where Moses could catch my eye if he needed something before I noticed it was low. Suddenly, a random girl walked over to me and asked if it was my job to guard the Chicklet machine. By this time of the night, I wasn’t in the mood for people who think they’re cute. I had put in nine hours at my day job, and was into hour number three of my night job. I just stared at her and replied “Yes.” She walked off, only to return a few minutes later.
Chicklet girl: “You know, I wasn’t trying to be some smart-ass random bar girl. I was only kidding. I love Chicklets, and this is the only bar that has them. I always buy several and put them in the side pocket of my purse.”
JT: “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, you’ve got nothing on half of the crap I hear in here every night. Besides, I now know two people who use this thing. You and Brian, the owner. In fact, I’m convinced that Brian keeps it here for two reasons: so he can eat the Chicklets, and so I have something to lean on when I’m not busy.”
CG: “Well, I just didn’t want you to think I’m a bitch. I used to bartend in Austin before I moved here, and I realized I probably came across badly earlier. I know what you all have to put up with.”
We then talked about Austin for a while. I have been out there once, and want to go again, because the music scene is right up my alley, and she was recommending places to go. Then, the conversation returned to Chicklets.
CG: “So, does Brian pick out the yellow ones?”
JT: “I honestly have no idea.”
CG: “I bet he does. They taste like banana. Everyone picks them out and throws them away. They’re awful.”
JT: “Well, I’ll pay closer attention next time… “
At this point, Moses informed me we were low on ice, so I went to the back to get some more, assuming this would be the end of Chicklet Girl’s dissertation on the Merit of the Yellow Chicklet and its Influence on Western Culture. I was mistaken.
I resumed my post, and Chicklet Girl walked over, two whole yellow Chicklets in her hand, and one that had been bitten into.
CG: “See? I made my friend taste one and she hated it too.”
JT: “Well, point proven, I suppose.”
She then laid the 2.5 Chicklets on top of the vending machine and wandered off. I waited until she was out of sight and tossed them in the trash, not wanting to accidentally plant my elbow in them later.
After that, we were slammed and I was running back and forth stocking beer, ice and mixers until I left.
As I was walking towards my car, I saw a blur out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly, a girl was hitting me with her purse. I just turned, looked at her and said:
JT: “Well, hi there.”
Purse Girl: “Oh My God! I don’t know you!”
JT: “Nope.”
PG: “I am so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
JT “I’m not.”
PG: “Will you pose for a picture with me?”
JT: “Sure. Why not?”
I figured it couldn’t get any stranger. I offered to call her a cab, since she was obviously drunk, but she had a friend waiting in her car to drive her home. I finally climbed in my car and headed home, glad to have another Dollar Beer night behind me. I just can’t wait to see what happens next…
JT out.
As usual for a Tuesday night, I was barbacking for Moses and Brian. I have to say, other than the long hours (I usually don’t leave until 12:30 or 1:00 AM) Tuesday night is my easiest night. I bust my ass for about an hour hustling beer up the stairs three cases at a time, stocking the bar, and icing down the reserves for our Dollar Beer night (Budweiser and Bud Light are just a buck on Tuesdays.) Then, I just hang out for two or three hours, refilling ice and restocking cold beers as necessary until about 10:30 or 11:00. Then it’s show time. For some bizarre reason, people start streaming in the door at 10:30, and we get filled to capacity, if not more (just kidding, Mr. Fire Marshal! We never let more than 97 people in at once!) Frat boys are standing three and four deep at the bar, waving dollar bills in the air and trying desperately to look cool. On a side note: the best way to get us to serve you faster? Actually tip us, you douchebags. The beer is a dollar. If you buy six, and don’t leave a tip, we remember that kind of thing. And sweetheart, your ID says you’re 32? Why are you still wearing a sorority t-shirt? I agree, your breasts are perky. Now let me show you where the door is.
Anyway, back to my original story. Like I said, nothing too terribly unusual most nights. Last night was a bit of an exception. It was probably a bit past 9:00, and we were steady, but not busy yet. I was at my usual post, leaning against the Chicklet machine, talking to the cooks and waitresses and in plain view where Moses could catch my eye if he needed something before I noticed it was low. Suddenly, a random girl walked over to me and asked if it was my job to guard the Chicklet machine. By this time of the night, I wasn’t in the mood for people who think they’re cute. I had put in nine hours at my day job, and was into hour number three of my night job. I just stared at her and replied “Yes.” She walked off, only to return a few minutes later.
Chicklet girl: “You know, I wasn’t trying to be some smart-ass random bar girl. I was only kidding. I love Chicklets, and this is the only bar that has them. I always buy several and put them in the side pocket of my purse.”
JT: “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, you’ve got nothing on half of the crap I hear in here every night. Besides, I now know two people who use this thing. You and Brian, the owner. In fact, I’m convinced that Brian keeps it here for two reasons: so he can eat the Chicklets, and so I have something to lean on when I’m not busy.”
CG: “Well, I just didn’t want you to think I’m a bitch. I used to bartend in Austin before I moved here, and I realized I probably came across badly earlier. I know what you all have to put up with.”
We then talked about Austin for a while. I have been out there once, and want to go again, because the music scene is right up my alley, and she was recommending places to go. Then, the conversation returned to Chicklets.
CG: “So, does Brian pick out the yellow ones?”
JT: “I honestly have no idea.”
CG: “I bet he does. They taste like banana. Everyone picks them out and throws them away. They’re awful.”
JT: “Well, I’ll pay closer attention next time… “
At this point, Moses informed me we were low on ice, so I went to the back to get some more, assuming this would be the end of Chicklet Girl’s dissertation on the Merit of the Yellow Chicklet and its Influence on Western Culture. I was mistaken.
I resumed my post, and Chicklet Girl walked over, two whole yellow Chicklets in her hand, and one that had been bitten into.
CG: “See? I made my friend taste one and she hated it too.”
JT: “Well, point proven, I suppose.”
She then laid the 2.5 Chicklets on top of the vending machine and wandered off. I waited until she was out of sight and tossed them in the trash, not wanting to accidentally plant my elbow in them later.
After that, we were slammed and I was running back and forth stocking beer, ice and mixers until I left.
As I was walking towards my car, I saw a blur out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly, a girl was hitting me with her purse. I just turned, looked at her and said:
JT: “Well, hi there.”
Purse Girl: “Oh My God! I don’t know you!”
JT: “Nope.”
PG: “I am so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
JT “I’m not.”
PG: “Will you pose for a picture with me?”
JT: “Sure. Why not?”
I figured it couldn’t get any stranger. I offered to call her a cab, since she was obviously drunk, but she had a friend waiting in her car to drive her home. I finally climbed in my car and headed home, glad to have another Dollar Beer night behind me. I just can’t wait to see what happens next…
JT out.
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I still maintain that Chicklet girl wasn't flirting with me, although Melissa (the skirt) insists otherwise.
Purse Girl was just drunk and mildly retarded.
Purse Girl was just drunk and mildly retarded.
That was awesome!
If you ever start finding yellow Chicklets near your home. Call the Cops. Seriously.
If you ever start finding yellow Chicklets near your home. Call the Cops. Seriously.
Okay, so maybe CG was flirting. It's nice to know I've still got it.
Blu - I'll scout out the area immediately.
Blu - I'll scout out the area immediately.
Chicklet Girl was flirting, albeit annoying and worthy of your sandoffishness. You pretty much played it the way it should be played, especially considering that your a taken guy.
Purse Girl was hammered and maybe a little emotionally damaged. It was nice of you to offer to call a cab, and not put her in a Fugure 4 Leglock after she took a swing at you.
This was a nice story. I don't go to bars anymore, but it's nice to know they haven't changed.
When it comes to flirting, I've got it down to a science, but when a girl does it back to me, I get completely thrown off my game and come off like I'm very shy and kind of a jerk. Course, that's more like my actual personality than 'Flirty Guy' anyway.
Furthermore, I'm at a stage of my life where I think that every girl that's nice to me either wants something or is simply making fun of me. In both cases, it never ends well. Considering that I've been married for 3 years, that's probably a good thing.
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Purse Girl was hammered and maybe a little emotionally damaged. It was nice of you to offer to call a cab, and not put her in a Fugure 4 Leglock after she took a swing at you.
This was a nice story. I don't go to bars anymore, but it's nice to know they haven't changed.
When it comes to flirting, I've got it down to a science, but when a girl does it back to me, I get completely thrown off my game and come off like I'm very shy and kind of a jerk. Course, that's more like my actual personality than 'Flirty Guy' anyway.
Furthermore, I'm at a stage of my life where I think that every girl that's nice to me either wants something or is simply making fun of me. In both cases, it never ends well. Considering that I've been married for 3 years, that's probably a good thing.
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