Only creepy old men,
who hit on the young beautiful bartenders,
sit at the bar.
They are the regulars.
They come in
night
after
night.
Always ordering the same drinks.
Always eating the same food.
The beautiful bartenders play their game;
probably because they know that the creepy old men tip the best.
Beautiful and savvy bartenders always make the most tips.
They know how to work the room.
They walk differently,
swinging their hips
and
they give just enough to keep the old timers coming back.
The older timers are drunk and bold
But
It gets them nowhere.
They just spend their money
and
try to flirt.
It’s a funny game that happens at bars.
I was a spectator of this game.
I was sitting at the bar with my laptop.
I had left my headphones at home;
on accident.
I usually didn’t enjoy listening to the old guys make their awkward small talk.
But tonight,
Tonight I heard it all.
There was a nice man with a stump for a left arm sitting to my left.
A creepy and aggressive old man sitting to the left of the man with the stump.
His aggressiveness was making me uncomfortable.
(I couldn’t imagine how the women were feeling.)
He had just given his phone number to one of the bartenders.
He had said something about giving her his ‘mole enchilada recipe.’
I watched her reluctantly take his number.
The man to my right whispered to her,
“Want me to kick him out of here?”
“No, that’s okay.”
She responded.
“I was going to pour a beer on his head.”
He said as he laughed.
She knew how to play the game.
All three of these creepy old timers had goatees.
I wondered what came first,
The creepiness
or
the goatees?
I wasn’t old yet
and
I didn’t have a goatee.
So,
even though I sit at the bar with them,
I like to think that I am not them yet.
I also don’t flirt with the bartenders.
I preferred to just sit there all handsome and mysterious,
with my headphones in
and my laptop out.
Maybe someday I’d become one of these creepy regulars.
I was happy that I wasn’t today though.
Today I was just a drunk stranger.
I didn’t tip well.
Maybe one day I would
And
Maybe one day,
I’d have a goatee.
The man on my right gave his ‘business card’ to the same bartender.
No wonder he offered to pour beer on the other man’s head,
he was trying to sleep with her too.
They all were.
It was the trade of sexual tension for good tips.
The game that beautiful savvy bartenders play with drunk creepy regulars,
who sit at the bar.
It was a pretty boring game to watch.
I wish I had brought my headphones
and didn't have to listen to the 'Goatee's' do their sad auction for awkward attention.
It must suck to get old.
And it must suck to be a beautiful woman.
I was glad I was neither.