The Tallest, Curses, and Cabo Wabo

We have come to the conclusion that both Laura and I are cursed. My curse: when I work happy hour on Fridays, happy hour is very slow. Her curse: water-loving-people.

When I walk into the bar at four, there are two people. One is Julia, the other is Deb. The staff to customer ration is 3:0. Over the next forty five minutes this changes to 3:1 when one guy comes in and sits at the bar. I park on a bar stool and get myself ready for yet another one of those nights.

It starts picking up around five-thirty, which is the same time I see some familiar faces come through the door. My parents' next-door neighbors are two of the nicest people in the world, and his sister's visiting, so they're showing her the town. Since it's getting busy, I don't end up having a lot of time to chat with them, but I do manage to steal a few minutes. I also buy them a spinach and artichoke dip appetizer, which is my favorite. Lots of smiles for that one. You know how sometimes you just have that table that puts you in a better mood? They were that table.

By the time my parents' neighbors have left, Laura's arrived. It doesn't take her curse long to kick in. She goes over to her second table of the night and comes back with one of those looks on her face.
Laura: She's having water. He's having a Coke. They don't even know if they're going to eat.
Thus far, I have not had anyone drinking water (not that I've had much of anyone anyway, though). Later, the man orders a sandwich, the woman has nothing.
Laura: Wow, water and no food. She's a fun date.
Well, apparently the guy didn't mind as I later noticed them doing some quiet face sucking.

Since we were a little short handed, bartender-wise, Alex came in to help out by bar backing. Or, as Julia put it, being her bitch. Since Alex is a tall guy and I am not, and since the bar stools have horizontal bars perfect for standing on, I put two near each other and stepped up so I had a foot on the lowest bar of each. At about this time, K.C. passes by. He walks over, looks at what I'm doing.
K.C.: I don't think so.
He reaches up to the top of his head, looks at the top of mine, and adds: I'm still taller than you.
Me: Get back to the front door where you belong.
He laughs and head back to his post.

I continue chatting with Alex for a bit and glance toward the front where I have a clear line of sight of the front door, and K.C. who's got a few stools of his own up there and is now perched on them just as I am on mine. He grins. I do my best to shoot him a dirty look from all the way across the place. He laughs. I climb down off the stools, accepting my defeat.

About this time there are four tables in the whole place. It's nine-thirty on a Friday night. Pitiful. By a quarter after ten, I've closed out my one table, closed out my bank, etc. and I'm headed for my car. It's started to pick up just a bit, and the owners have all arrived and I didn't clear my leaving with them, but I'm out the door and I just keep walking.

This morning, I pull my phone out of my bag from last night and notice a missed call. From the bar. My first thought: this can't be good. The time is 11:47 p.m. Also not a good sign. All I can think of is that it's one of the owners calling to say they were not happy by my ducking out. I'm a little worried. Despite the fact that my days at the bar are numbered, I don't want to be thought of as a slacker or unreliable.

I push the button to hear the message.
Julia: Hey, you need to come in tomorrow. (pause, laughter)Just kidding. We emptied the Cabo Wabo bottle you wanted and I saved it for you.

Ah, no problem then.

It's a good thing it's almost summer break as my collection of empty bottles from the bar has begun to make it seem like I am a drunk. I need to get back to my making tequila bottles into jewelry project before I start having to answer questions.