Getting Ditched at the Bar

"I don't know if I can order that. I blush too easily."
-Me

For a couple months now, since just before Becca quit at the bar (she's an EMT now), we've been trying to meet up for a drink. Between our schedules, it didn't work out until last night. Before you ask, Becca's not the ditcher. I called another friend to meet us and she's the one.

By the time I got out of the terrible class and down to the bar, both gals were already there: Becca at one end of the bar waiting for me, the other at the opposite end of the bar chatting with a guy. She stayed there, except for a couple of cigarette breaks, the whole time. Becca and I got ditched for a guy. Maybe I'd even be a little offended about it, except I'm too entertained. I like to give her a hard time about her "boyfriends," and now I have more ammo.

In any event, I joined Becca at the end of the bar and I told Dave I had no idea what I wanted so he could ignore me for a few minutes. See, there's a problem with me having a drink - I'm not a drinker. Yes, I work at a bar three nights or so a week and spend hours surrounded by booze. Yet, I can count on one hand the number of times I've had a drink in the past two months. I'm partial to girly drinks where, though there may be plenty of alcohol, there's not so much that alcohol taste. Beer? No thanks. Wine? I'll pass. Tequila? Gag me. And so it goes.

Now, because turn-about is fair play, and since I was a patron last night, here's a bonus bar hightlight conversation:

Me: Crap, I don't know what to order.
Becca: Here we'll look at the drink menu, 'cause it's not like you've seen it before.
Me: Hrm... (Boy crazy friend walks by, so I ask her) Hey, what should I have?
BCF: Did you like that shot I gave you the other day?
Me: Yeah.
BCF: Tell Dave you want an orgasm.
Becca: Isn't that a screaming orgasm?
Me: I don't think I can order that. I blush too easily.
BCF: (On her way out for a smoke) Order an orgasm.
Me: Dave, I'd like an orgasm.
Dave: On the rocks?
Me: Please.
Guy at the bar: Hey, you're not going to have one right here, are you?
Me: Ha ha.
Becca: Well, you were doing okay. Now you're bright red.
Me: Great.

Now, there are some basic rules about ordering drinks. One is, if you're that embarassed by the name of your drink, you deserve all the ribbing you get. Remember this. What's an orgasm, you non-drinkers may be wondering? It's irish cream and amaretto. Quite good, too. (I know your dirty minds are tempted right now, but you can ignore the temptation, I give you my permission).

While I wish I'd been smarter when arranging our night out (I still have craft show prep to do and no time to do it) I'm glad we were able to do it. So often we have neat people come through the bar, leave, and disappear forever. I'm glad I'm managing to stay in touch with at least one.