This is why I Bartend

While I was working in Seattle....well, lets go back a few paces. Let's start with how I got the job. That tale is pretty delightful in itself. Short but simple. Really quick. Let's go. Boom.

I had been living in Seattle for four days, got tired of waiting around for a job, went to the library to print out resumes to go door to door to bars and get a job. Starting out with eight, I had my very last one in hand and walked up to a fancy looking little place, "Are y'all hiring for a bartender?"
"Yes. Can you show up in two hours for your first shift?"
"Yes."

Boom. That's how I started working in Seattle. (The full details of that story are a different story, different day)

This was a fairly new place that had opened up only a couple months prior to me working there.  With the weeks to come, I had this place open until 2am on the weekends rather than closing at 11pm. I also had a pretty regular crowd- the usual fells to pregame before going into the club on the next block, and the usual ladies that came in from the club that wanted a great drink without paying $15 a pop. They also liked that I was fast and there was plenty of breathing room at the bar as opposed to the club.

I had all kinds of people walking into the bar to see me.  People leaving to go on cruises to Alaska out of the port in Seattle, then some of the same ones coming back.  People that knew me from other bars I worked at in the area that wanted to come hang out as I was slinging drinks.

Anyway, back to the purpose of this story- the reason I bartend. I had a couple gals that came in one evening, already a little loud and went straight for the bathroom. We had a policy at that place, so I went in after them and just said, "Hey ladies what's up?"
"Hey girl, we had to pee sooo baddd!!"
"Well that's cool. Just as long as you come pay mama a visit at the bar. Can't leave me without having a drink.
"Yeah girl, yeah!"

I left the gals to their business, not really thinking they would come up to the bar and just dip out. It was close to closing time on a Friday night, so I began cleaning and didn't think much else of it.

I was wrong.
Both gals came and sat down and had some $5 shots with me- an idea I had when I discovered that the bar had a lot of left over alcohol from the last bar that resided in its place and the owners had given me free reign to get rid of it.
The gals sat there and chopped it up with me for a while. Eventually the gals had to leave but promised they'd be back for me and said they'd enjoyed their stay.

They left out and I was in the process of counting my bank when some Pharrell Williams mother fucker comes walking in with some night walker. "Hey honey, we're closed." I said, gesturing around at the fact not a soul was here and most all lights were off except the bar lights. Shit even the music was off. Dead.

"Your friends out there said you could hook me up." He pointed a finger back at the door but continued to walk toward the bar.  Anorexic Nicki Minaj didn't seem phased by her surroundings a bit and just took a stool at the bar. At this time, the owner came out of the office and stood there a moment to see what I would do.

"Y'all can always come back and see me tomorrow, baby, I'm already counting my bank."
"We don't want much, just a couple shots of patron." He threw two twenties on the bar top and looked deep into Nicki's eyes, smiling.

"You know you just gave me $40?" I look at him with pinched eyebrows.
"It's good right?" He waved his hand at the money, still not looking at me.

I look to my owner. He shrugs.
"Chilled or straight?"
"Straight."
"You want a lime, baby?" I said, lookin at the little Bambi to Pharrell's right.
"Yes, please." She spoke up.

I poured two decent shots, salted with a lime. The guy downed his, but Bambi winced, not finishing her full shot in one gulp, and a little dribbling down the side of her mouth. She wiped it off so delicately with a thumb.

"Here's for the shots," and Pharrell hands me another $20.

My inside poor kid was doing the Shmurda.
My outter bartender took the $20 with grace and gave him his change for the shots which he pocketed. I pocketed the beginning $40.

"Y'all are welcome to stay until I'm done cleaning up."

He talked, she giggled, they say, it was lovely.

My owner walks up to me, "Give them another round on the house. Tell them thanks for hooking up my bartender."

I did just so. Pharrell hands me another $20 tip and makes a toast at the owner and thanked him.

I made sixty fucking dollars in less than five minutes and I didn't have perform fellatio in the alleyway. That's what's up.

Either way, hope y'all enjoyed, keep reading for my other random stories and updates!

Don't Apologize

Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.
Not for the things that are out of your control
That are out of your hands
That are out of my mind
That are out of this world
As to why you would think you needed to apologize for such things.
Don't. Please. Don't apologize to me.

When you make the food and you clean, prep, shake, bake, chop, char, sizzle, drip, scrub, wash, scrape, and pick at the dried-on food on the dishes in the aftermath to repeat it all over again for the kitchen's next use.
When you gather the troops to send off to finger painting and algebra that you don't quite understand and with the clothes you have to wash, fold, find, match, sew, buy, steam, iron, button, stain, bleach, work, tear, and mend again so when they come back with more dirty
You can give them a replacement garment once more.
When you break your back and you strain because that's what you're supposed to do when you're a good mother
To provide for the household
On your minimum wage
On your feet again
On your last dollar
On your back
On your knees again, begging to God you'll get that raise, that new job, that different job, that enjoyable job, that worry-free, wine tasting, bourgeois bitch, housewives reality job
To support the nest you call home of those that might or might not deserve your articulate care.

Don't apologize to me when I walk in
About how messy your house is
About how you didn't have time
About your makeup not done in three days
About the Starbucks buildup in your car
Because that's all the time you have for breakfast and you call it Me Time.
Don't apologize for a damn thing.

And Sir, baby, honey, mister mister, daddy, my cream puff, my chocolate dream, my Asian persuasion, sugar, totem pole, lemondrop, my desire, man at the liquor store, guy at the library, dude winking at his baby momma, my good morning coffee on a Sunday morning that was well deserved after a night of tiresome work,
Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.

When you kiss me as we're making dinner because we've both been through hell and this is the time we can be peaceful in our own little cottage
Making ramen when we're down and
Making lobster when we're up and
You get that twinge, that hankering, that inkling, that mustering feeling, that impulse, that fire, that push, that savage, that hard on that is gonna make momma happy because you love her.
Because she loves you.
Because you show her affection
Because you shower her with devotion, and love, and commitment, and strength
Because you are her rock, her man, her companion, her Person, her one that she calls when the lady with the loan company is being a fucking twat and is trying to charge her ten dollars to make a fucking hefty payment.
You take care of your woman, your lady, your gal
To the best of your ability
No questions, only answers
To find some way to be closer to her and make it so the universe can't get in your way.

Don't apologize to me when we're laying there
And you're naked and I'm wet
And you're ready and I'm smiling
And I breathe in the ecstasy of our sexy smells
And your face says it all
That you already released.
Don't apologize to me.
Not for your body's reaction to our pleasure
Not for the quick fire because some magazine told the world
You're a novice unless it's two hours
And she's shaking
And your dick is falling off
And you both drank 2 gallons of water in the process
With scented lube all over the place
And now you have to shower off the stank
When you could have just simply made love
With your woman.
Shown your affection.
Love is deeper than sex.
Don't apologize to me. (I know I'm hot)

I see you there in the corner as well.
Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.
I see you cowering, frail, beaten, stabbed, hurt, run over, run down, ran away
Into the darkness, trying to find shelter, trying to find witness, trying to find someone
Or something that can help you escape your torture.
When you space out into other worlds, grab your controller, your paint brush, your computer, your hiking stick, your running shoes and get the fuck out of here.
When you've surrounded yourself with the Wrong
And the best way to make it all right is to separate;
Make yourself right.
You can't change them, you want to, it sucks, I know, you're powerless, they're greedy, you try, try, try, your efforts so lost in translation it just looks like you love to support their bad habits.
You love supporting their abuse and take their hit
You love supporting their habit and you supply
You love, love, love this don't you?
Take it, take more, your pain and theirs
All burdens, all hatred, all bills, all drugs, all shots, all illusions, all psychotic fucking breakdowns at WalMart because she can't have a fucking coke and has to take Pepsi just one time.

Don't apologize to me for wanting nothing
To do with this world.
When you much rather read your book at home
Than get thrown back into the parties and become the DD every. Single. Time.
When you want to hide out, hide away, in your place, in your escape, on your bed,
You introvert, you
Wanting to just have peace in your world
Peace of mind, of stability, of mankind, of your neighbour, of your future,
Just sticking to yourself
Because you trust yourself.
Don't apologize to me.
Not for the wrong kind of things.

Apologize for being a shitty human being.
Apologize for choosing money over friendship.
Apologize for your children acting like fucking assholes because "oh, kids will be kids"
No, you fucktard, restrain that thing and teach it manners
Apologize for believing you can buy a $5 drink and get poon because
that says something about you as a fucking person.
Apologize for having no morals, character, decency, tact, diplomacy, grace, or willingness to pick up your own goddamn garbage from the beach you'd been partying on for a whole day.
Apologize for doing these things on purpose
With ill intent
With a blind eye
With intention of ignoring what your father fucking knows he instilled in you
In your brothers
In your sisters
In your cousins
In your friends
That you should be ashamed of yourself for blatantly being an ignorant piece of shit that no one can stand to be around anymore because of your festering, negative, black hole space that surrounds everywhere you walk.

Apologize for just being a pent up ball of frustrations that verbally menstruates all over the Chinese buffet about rights and getting the last crab ragoon but don't apologize, my dear, for being a beautiful person that shows that you tried.