Isn't It Romantic?

This weekend kicked off the nightmare that is B Street. I'm just infinitely happy that there will be only four of them this year, instead of the five last year.

One down. Three to go. I haven't murdered anyone. Yet.

Friday started all right. Kinda quiet once I got there and I got to spend much time teasing Laura about her "boyfriends." At some point after one round of teasing, a good looking guy walks in and sits down at the bar by himself.
Laura: He's handsome.
Me: And alone. Go get him.
Laura: Shut up. I didn't mean it like that.
Me: Yeah, sure you didn't.

A short time later, four plastic-y women, the youngest of whom is at least half a decade older than our solitary lad, glom onto him. A few drinks, a couple shots, and they warm up to each other.
Guy: My friends were supposed to meet me here. I think I got stood up.
Gals: Shame on them. Well, we're going over to B Street, you should come with us.
And he does.

As the night drags on and I'm bored becuase the big drunken horde has yet to spill over from B Street, I hang out at the end of the bar for a while.
Gal: Hey you, bartender girl...
Julia: What can I do for you? (Which is far nicer a response than I ever would have managed to that)
Gal digs out a business card and starts telling Julia about how she's a sex toy saleswoman and if Julia is interested in either another job or hosting a party...
Which, of all the things I could have thought of to follow "Hey you," that would not have been on my list.

We edge up to that magical time of the drunken horde's arrival and soon half the people taking up space are sporting arm bands. At a table of four, three want nothing, one woman "needs" a water with a lime and a lemon, but feels no need to tip.

Two guys sit down, one waves at me like he's dying.
Me: What can I get for you?
Guy: We need a couple waters and a couple beers.
I mustered much will-power not to turn and walk away at this point. We've got eight beers on tap, more in bottles, asking for "beer" is just as obnoxious as ordering "a martini." I stare at him, giving him a chance to offer more than that. He doesn't.
Me: What beers?
Guy: Uh. (turns to friend) What do you want?
Finally they figure out what they want.

Stuff like this continues for a few more hours.
Me: We're getting near to last call.
K.C.: Not near enough. Not near enough.

So, that was Friday.

Saturday morning, bright and early, my folks are at my house continuing to work on repainting it. This makes the third weekend running that they've been over bright and early on Saturday and Sunday mornings to do such. The house is coming along nicely, but the early morning activity is not good for my state of mind. We're compromising, with me heading over to their house for naps, but the situation is not ideal.

A little after noon, I head over to mom & dad's for a nap. I end up sleeping like a dead person for over three hours. When I wake up, I have a muzzy-headed feeling which, last time I had it, indicated a fever that knocked me out for a few days. It's not nearly as strong, but makes me cautious. After a quick debate about calling off, I decide I'll go in.

All's pretty quiet for a while. Then Debbie gives me a heads-up that there's a new table on the patio. I walk out, intercepting a guy who I've waited on before and don't especially like. He's in his fifties, and thinks the world of himself. We're gonna call him George. I ask what I can get for him and he puts his arm around me. I take a step away, to discourage the manhandling. He steps with me and leaves his arm.

Now, we have a number of factors at work right this moment. Despite the nap, I'm tired. Because of the nap, my head's not feeling right. Thanks to the night before, and the early morning activity, I'm not in the best of moods. And he's touching me.

I reach around, pick up his hand, and pull it the F* off me. Then we proceed with normal business. He and his date (yup, he's on a date) have two bowls of shrimp, five glasses of wine, and two salads. Eventually, he asks for the check, which has come to $45.98

After a suitable amount of time, I go out, and see cash on the table.
Me: Let me get your change.
I pick it up. It's a single twenty.
Me: I'm sorry, the bill was forty-five and change.
George: Oh, I didn't even look at the bill.
Me: (What?!) I'll give you another minute.
Because, in what universe does five glasses of wine and dinner for two cost less than twenty dollars? (I'm saying "less" because I'm assuming a tip is included)

A couple more minutes, I go back out. There are a few bills on the table this time. I assume we've cleared up the confusion. I pick up the bills, then count them as I walk away. One twenty. Eight ones. Back to the table I go.

I point to the total on the check, which is still on the table in front of George.
Me: Your total was $45.98.
George: What? Forty five? (Like that's an outrageous price)
George's date: See? I told you.
Me: Here's where everything is itemized, if that helps.

I go back in. George also comes inside shortly thereafter. Assuming he wants to give me money, I ask if I can help him.
George: Oh, no, I just wanted to come in and cool off. It's hot out there.
Riiiight.
I walk over to check on another table and see George start talking to Skunk. I also see Skunk hand him one of the bar's business cards.

Me: What was that about?
Skunk: He wanted to know who the manager was.
Me: Somehow, I'm not surprised.

At this point, I'm keeping an eye on them through the back window in the kitchen. While I'm in there, I fill Debbie in.
Debbie: Maybe he wanted her to pay half.
Me: Now, while I can appreciate splitting the bill, that's the worst way I can think of to "drop the hint."

I head out to look busy by picking up empty glasses, but really to watch for cash. After two trips out, I spot the check folded under a glass with cash. I pick up both without a word to George. A $50 bill. Whoo-hoo! A whole $4.02 tip!

I hope. I really, really hope, that George's date was taking note of all this. I know that, were I in her position, the date probably would have ended there. One can only hope.

And this, my friends, was officially the point where I considered the way I was feeling, the mood I was in, and the prospect of staying for many more hours. This was the point where I decided "screw that." Thus, as soon as Laura arrived, I departed.

I got home at about nine o'clock, making for my shortest shift ever at three hours. Then I put in a movie and laid on the floor with my dog. The best Saturday night I've had in a month. No contest.