he rolled into the bar today with a black shopping back filled with candy, lotto tickets and cigars. i gave him my best pageant smile. “hi! how you doin?what can i get ya?” a bud draft. i smelled his b.o. i grab the coldest pitcher glass i’ve got… it’s been waiting for his chapped lips to kiss it for a good 2 hours in a tub of ice. i leaned the glass, poured the finest tap glass i ever had. he started off the conversation by slamming obama. unfortunately, this is not unusual for middle aged men at bars. i am polite, but try to passively disagree. he goes on talking about his parish, how girls should never get abortions. “what if they are 12 years old and raped? what then?” “they should have it and give it up for adoption.” “what if they can’t physically carry a child due to the fact they are not fully developed?” “12-13 year olds have babies all the time.” before i could whip out a WHAT THE FUCK, he slams down another 5 dollar bill. i turn around and refuse to give him a clean, cold glass. that fucker. he goes on to tell me he wants to buy a house for his 22 year old son and his kid and girlfriend in suffolk county. he has 10 thousand saved in the bank. i am good with carrying conversations. i talk about the taxes at nassau vs. suffolk. i talk about the prices of the homes, agreeing. i try to make him think i forgot about what he said about prebuscent mothers. he talks to me about hunting. he hunts deer. his brother in law has the heads of dead stuffed animals hanging on his wall. by this point, i am thoroughly grossed out. i tell him, “my stomache is turning.” “yeah, but you know its so much fun! its delicious! he climbs up this tree, and waits for them. he uses a bow and arrow.” how delightful. “he has the head of a moose hanging in his living room.” how fascinating. i am praying to god almighty that this annoying bastard rolls outta here back to wherever he came from. another bud. i am less careful with the tap this time. i still managed to give him a nailthin top. he says that i am the best bartender he’s had the pleasure of meeting. he is making me forget a little about the prepubescent mothers, but i still remember the visual of a moose head chillin on someone’s wall. fuckit, maybe he’ll leave me a descent tip. he goes on to tell me about how he is waiting for a disability check for 5 thousand dollars any day now. i start to wonder how many of these stories are actually true. he tells me he wants to go to atlantic city and gamble once he gets it. asks me if i play blackjack. he tells me he has 10 thousand saved. he tells me the food at clydesdale’s is too expensive, and that he is going to go to the deli and get a nice sandwich, with chicken cutlet, mozzarella cheese and roasted peppers. mazeltov. i hope you enjoy your meal. but in my bar’s defense, our food is fresh, unfrozen, and high quality. “yea i know i know.. but still its too expensive.” i shrug. i pour him another beer. he tells me he used to be a body gaurd for dianna ross. i am skeptical. how did you get that job? “oh i was working and they told me i could be working somewhere in long island. it was a show she had and i signed up with her after.” when is this poor bastard going to leave? when? he tells me he will have just one more. he has spent close to 20 dollars in beer, and made 2 bathroom trips. i’m pondering what his bac level is. i notice a mta bus schedule by his black bag. i pour him a fine looking glass, all new. really cold. at school i learned that people remember the the first event, unsure of the event leading to the end, but the last event is just as memorable as the first impression. he is likely to be my only customer of the day. i’m hoping for a decent tip. he sits down and hoots some more about the economy. about buying a house for his son. asks me to change frank sinatra to van halen. i explain to him this is a restaurant, and the music plays outside. van halen is unfit for the mood. he tells me no one is in there besides us anyways. at this point, i regret not spitting in his drink or overcharging him. i am getting annoyed. but, i grin and bare it. i remind myself that he is probably a lonely man, and has to take the bus in the snow. i feel sorry for him. and i give him a genuine smile. a smile that often acts a lot like a pacifier, or glue. i tell him to take it easy out there, to get home safely, to enjoy his 5 dollar deli sandwich. he leaves me a 2 dollar tip. bartending is hard work. i hope that sandwich was more then he expected it to be. better yet, i hope the post office delivers him his check soon. i hope he wins in atlantic city, and goes on his catholic retreat.
