Saturday, September 25, 2010

Party like it's your birthday

Creepy comment of the week award goes to a stringy-haired man likely aged in his mid fifties who told me I was cute, and that if given the chance he would adopt me as his daughter because he "doesn't have a daughter, just two sons."

Thank you creepy man, for creeping me out.

I am curious though, are people in the midwest heftier? Maybe it's all the German blood and bratwurst they consume, but I haven't really noticed any additional heft here that isn't present in any other communities. The reason I bring this up, is that since moving, I have received an unremarkable number of comments about my size. I am tall, and fairly slender, but I'm not gaunt or anything that I feel would warrant a comment. But an unprecedented number of patrons comment on my size at work.

This just leads me to say that a regular was in yesterday (on a particularly windy day), and he commented that he wasn't sure if I would make it in to work because of all the wind. I'm assuming he meant because I'm so small I would get blown away.

The evening was fairly busy, and even with four bartenders, we were all running around. Life didn't start to calm down until well after happy hour ended. Then, Lina and one of our really good friends we haven't seen since May showed up to at the restaurant to surprise me. I was a middle shift last night, so when they showed up and we got slow, they went ahead and cut me so I could eat and hang out with them.

After chilling out over dinner, we decided to order a kids dessert, and when one of the bartenders I was working with that night brought it out, he had rounded up the rest of the servers in the restaurant and, gathering around me clapping, they began singing our restaurant's version of Happy Birthday. He cut in and began singing "Hey, Shorty, it's your birthday, party like it's your birthday."

The great part is that it was not my birthday, and earlier that night I'd won points with this bartender for telling him that he should pretend to be a tie fighter for the night. He asked the only other female bartender who works there if she knew what a tie fighter was, and he received a blank, confused stare. Thank you, previous boyfriend of mine, for making me learn the Star Wars fighter crafts.

Due to the eight people surrounding me singing Happy Birthday, the rest of the bar was efficiently clued in to the fact that it was my "birthday." Next thing we know, a semi-regular at the bar bought all three of us shots of Patron.

This is after one of the other bartenders accidentally began making a drink that he didn't realize had already been made, so he brought the extra over to our table. The drink was pink and fruity, and tasted great. For the rest of this story, it should be noted that this bartender is gay:

The visiting friend commented when the bartender came over to the table, "This tastes like girl in a drink."
"I shall call the drink 'Vagina,' then," he replied.
"Well, you do Vagina's very well."
"I don't do Vagina's often, but when I do, I do them right," he said.

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