August 16th

This was technically my Friday to come in early, but I requested later, so Laura got my usual slow happy hour. I was entertained. I forgot my apron and had to use one from work. Brandi was entertained.
Brandi: Your apron has a naked lady on it!

Dave clocked out early, due to the deadness, and sat down at the bar to have his shift drink. Shortly before this, a certain obnoxious regular had come in and sat at the bar.
Me: Why are you sitting all the way over here instead of at your usual spot? You're not avoiding someone, are you?
Dave: (All innocence) You know me, I wouldn't do something like that, would I? (pause) Well, maybe a little.

Then he and Brandi started talking about one of the Bobs.
Brandi: Well, you're going to be dead in a year anyway. (pause) Man, he was so serious when he said it too.
Dave: And now he's predicting my death, again. He's just not going to be happy until I'm dead. Well, I'm not gonna do him any favors.

Enter the blonde chick (who'd already been in once) and the guy with her (who hadn't). Enter, as well, a strong smell of gasoline. She's one of the pain-in-the-ass annoying types and Laura immediately turns to me.
Laura: All yours. I already had her once today.
Me: Golly, thanks.

The guy heads to the bathroom, the chick orders for both of them, tells me he helped her put gas in her car, and goes to the bathroom as well to wash her hands to get the smell off. The thought crosses my mind that hand-washing alone just won't do the trick. The thought also crosses my mind to wonder how, exactly, they were putting gas into her car. Presumably it was an exercise which went well beyond the complexity of visiting a gas station. However, sometimes, it is better not to know. The smell of gasoline has now permeated the whole place.

It's still incredibly slow, so Laura opts for a smoke break.
Laura: I'm gonna go out front and have a cigarette. Or, I could just light it in here and we could all explode.

Later on, the party crowd eases in, though not so suddenly nor so plentiful as last week. I still fight the near-overwhelming compulsion to randomly smack the back of people's heads as I walk past them. Nothing like a big, pressing, drunken crowd to bring out my violent impulses.

Two of our regulars (and you never see one without the other) find a spot at the bar near the server station.
C: How's it going?
Me: Alright, how 'bout you guys?
C: Not so bad, but I'm kinda nervous.
Me: Why's that?
C: There's so many people in here. I don't like crowds so much.
Me: Yeah, you and me both.

Most of the tables aren't especially noteable, but one was kinda funny.
A trio comes in, two guys, one gal. I greet them, then leave them with the drink menu because they don't already know what they want. After a bit, I head back over.
Me: Have you decided what you'd like?
Bleached blond guy: Not yet, she's hogging the menu.
I pull another one for them, and bleached blond looks at it intently. This is when I get a hunch about this group.
A while longer, I peek over, it looks like they've put the drink menus down.

Me: What've you decided on?
Bleached blond guy names one of our girly martinis, as does the gal. The other guy, a large dark skinned dude wearing a striped shirt, flips frantically through the menu. The voice inside my head says, "For the love of Ronald, you guys have already been here a good ten minutes, picking a drink is not that hard."
Striped shirt: I'll have a pint of Bud Light.
Really? All that and you're having a pint of beer? But, mostly, I'm just relieved that they've finally picked their booze of choice.

A short time later, striped shirt asks if we can make him a cable car martini.
Me: I haven't heard of that one, do you know what's in it?
Striped shirt: Um, it's made with rum. And... I don't know.
Me: Let me check with the bartenders, see if they know.
I check. Brandi makes a brief, yet expletive-filled comment about people who order stuff when they don't know what's in it.
Me: Sorry, they bartenders don't know that one either.
His face falls, and he accepts his fate.

If you're wondering, it seems a cable car "martini" is made with rum. Now, I'm no martini snob, but come on, that's just silly. Though, that said, it sounds like something I'd like.

Another note-worthy thing about last night - I talked with Marianne and officially gave my notice. Now, on the schedule book, is a post-it note that reads: August 16th is Ali's last day.

Let the count down begin.