“Bartender! OH Bartender!”
It’s so annoying when people think my name is Bartender. And it’s even more annoying when they try to beckon me by saying it in a sing song voice, with a curl of their finger.
“Bartender! There’s a bug in my drink.”
Ah, shit. Fruit flies. They happen even in the best of places. Just one can find a glass of red wine from across a restaurant. But this isn’t the best of places and there are way more than just one. When I came in today they were in the kitchen, the bathroom, even the corner where one too many drunks have puked. Now they’re even in people’s drinks.
I pour the finger curler a fresh one to no avail. There’s another one. And another. I hold the bottle of raspberry vodka up for a look. Fuck! There are five more inside.
Of course it doesn’t stop at fruit flies. Last week I was vacuuming and picked up what I thought was a piece of paper, except it stuck to my hand when I tried to throw it in the trash. When I looked closer there was a picture of a black cat and a dead rodent on the back of the paper. Apparently Charlie knows we have a lot bigger problems than the swarm of gnats that have invaded our liquor supply.
Which, by the way, I get to filter out of all the flavored rums, vodkas and sweet liqueurs. Think about that the next time you’re sucking down a Malibu Bay Breeze.