Saturday started off with a tour through my closet ending with a final conclusion:
I cannot emphasize this enough: This is how my friends and I feel that we carry ourselves when we go out for drinks.
We sarcastically talk each other’s awesomeness up, while simultaneously insulting our own pathetic-ness. As we channel our inner Angelina, on the other side of the bar, they are seeing:
So.. we sit ourselves down at this magical paradise bar in which all 6 of the bartenders happen to be males around our age. They have magical accents and magical names like “Geoffrey” and “Kienan”. Pull up a stool to an alternate universe and let me tell you the magically embarrassing tale.
Two Cinderellas who closely resemble Alice falling down the rabbit hole in Cinderella’s blue dress.
We have CROSS FIT 4 LYFE bro-seph in our left peripherals. Next, the 5’7 local who charms a new girl every night on the stool beside us. Finally, the happy couple on our right who go to the bar to say that they are “social” and “do things”, but will be leaving momentarily when they realize that they are better than this place and would rather get in pj’s and gaze into each others eyes at home.
We ignore the creepy locals and the 40 year old Indian man in the stripes who keeps staring at us smiling and waving.
We meet an Australian bartender, a West Coast Bartender, a ginger bartender, a bearded bartender… all smiling and trying to earn a tip by boosting our egos.
The bartenders introduce us to their friend Jose. Which has us feeling like:
At this point, lovely bearded bartender has been working the opposite side of the bar. My friend decides to inform me that while he looks like Bradley Cooper from afar, he’s more of a retired WWE wrestler who has let himself go, or a Seth Rogan in his “Knocked Up” years of fame.
So, while my friend chats up West Coast Bartender, ginger bartender comes over for another what I am sure is an incredibly embarrassing attempt at flirting on my end. Sober ginger bartender is only there because that’s where they clean the glasses.
Besides the point, west coast bartender is proceeding to invite my friend to an “after party” HA! Sounds like a basement full of promising individuals that I would love to meet. As incredibly attractive as west coast bartender was, you immediately go to scrub status when you try to invite girls to an “after party”.
Meanwhile, ginger bartender returns with.. whaaaaaaaat.. a business card? For me? Not sure if… claim to being intelligent (owning own business).. more than a bartender.. OR… if you want drunk cinderella 1 to call the.. number on the card? Which number.. there are two different numbers on this card, and an email address, and various social media portals..
Meanwhile.. friend gets passed note from west coast bartender, written in permanent marker on a brown bar napkin.
“I told the creepy guy trying to hit on you that I was your boyfriend, I hope that’s okay”.
Cinderella 1 & Cinderella 2 laugh and cheer at success.
Only to determine.. the note was not written by west coast bartender at all, it was passed to him by.. yes that’s right striped shirt man who hours later was still smiling and nodding from afar:
Meanwhile.. ginger bartender is on to the Cinderellas and asks something you should never ask an intoxicated person that you just met..
“So.. What’s my name?”
Earlier that night:
Well maybe he is just.. I don’t know.. doing his JOB? Not running from me, but running because 3 seconds is too long to pause in bartender world? Nope. Cinderella always was the flakiest princess in the fairy tale.
.. Then I remember, I have his card! So, I check my resources, and discover..
HA! KIENAN! I may be an asshole but.. kienan? Really you wanted me to pull KIENAN out of my ass..?
The night continued…
Then when I discovered the lovely couple beside me had ordered nachos, all bets were off.
My friend wanted none of it.
Plate of nachos for one.
It was a good look.
After the nachos, we decided we wanted to leave.. but oh not before sharing our numbers with our new bartender friends. I already had ginger bartender’s card, but it altogether confused me and I probably would not delve into figuring out which of the hundred ways I should go about contacting this bartender who doesn’t even live in the same area code as me.
So we ask for our handy napkins and permanent markers to leave a note. I hand the classy brown napkin with my number to ginger bartender, who puts it in a safe place.
My friend goes, “I want to give (west coast bartender) my number, but I don’t want to just hand it to him.. that’s lame”
Instead, she says, “I’m going to make an airplane.. and FLY it to him”
Oh snap.. we both thought that this was a VERY good idea. Can’t wait to see how this turns out.
She shapes a perfectly aerodynamic vessel, and with a smile sends it off..
Well, talk about Malaysian Airlines flight 370 because this baby went down hard into unknown territories.
The plane did a solid nose dive, crumpling into the feet of west coast bartender.
West coast bartender laughed. Walked away.. and left Amelia Earhart to die at sea.
The next morning when neither of our phones buzzed, we mutually agreed: