SORRY MOM & DAD: Only in dive bar heaven…
First Posted: 5/21/2013
Dear Mom and Dad,
Now that I recently turned 27, there are probably a few things you’re expecting me to outgrow, such as coming home with hickeys, living at your house, and hanging out at dive bars. Sorry, Mom and Dad, but I don’t see any of these happening in the near future. After all, I just came home with a hickey yesterday, I like the idea of not paying rent, and I find that the events that happen when hanging out at a dive bar make for great Facebook statuses. In fact, that’s why I decided to manage a dive bar, because if there are two things in this world I need, it’s a salary and a good Facebook status.
For example, when a girl stole a cardboard cutout of a Mexican lady at my bar last weekend, I decided to chase after her, push her into a telephone pole, and take it back! As I ran down the hill hugging a cardboard cutout of a Hispanic woman, a lady smoking an electronic cigarette cheered me on. Best status ever? I don’t know, but I do know that someone who just had a baby or got engaged couldn’t post a status about having a cheerleader with an electronic cig hanging from their mouth! #TRUTH
The other day, however, I realized managing a dive bar had a perk far more important than a great status: the ability to stick up for the underdog.
“I can’t believe this guy,” mentioned my bartender. “Not only did he not leave me a tip, but he wrote the word ‘nothing’ on his credit card slip… IN ALL CAPS!”.
“I’d say you should take a picture of it and post it on Facebook, but some girl got fired from Applebee’s for doing that,” mentioned a guest.
“Well, this isn’t Applebee’s,” I pointed out. “I’m in charge, and I say look up that douchebag on Facebook right now!”
As a former bartender who lost all dignity while competing in a local version of “Dancing with the Stars,” I decided to show empathy for my employee and help her seek revenge!
As soon as we found the dude who left “NOTHING,” I coached my bartender in sending him a nasty message, reading: “I couldn’t help but notice you were feminine, and wanted to hook you up with one of my gay friends. Are you a bottom? Because only a B—-H would leave ‘NOTHING’ as a tip.”
“OMG, he messaged me back,” she screamed fifteen minutes later. “I’m afraid to read it!”
His response was an apology!
“I’m sorry, baby,” his reply began. “The girl I was with wouldn’t let me tip you. When do you work next, baby? I promise I’ll bring you a big, fat tip!”
Sorry, Mom and Dad, that I coached my bartender into sending a message that could have turned into a hate crime. It all worked out in the end, as they became friendly and are now actively sexting.