My bar is a calm dinner spot. Sometimes customers sleep with other customers’ husbands, but other than that we’re low key. I’ve worked at my bar for two and a half years and the other night I witnessed my first bachelorette party.
A group of ten screeching young women storm in parading penis paraphernalia. The average age at the bar is 45. I don’t know who planned this party, but it’s an odd choice for a large group of 22-year-old women wearing antlers. And why are they wearing antlers?
They are not antlers. My in-the-gutter brain has failed to recognize headbands full of waving penises.
It is their young handsome server’s dream table. Ten women beg him to strip. He even puts on a love song and does a mock proposal to the bride. She declares,
“That’s better than my fiance did!”
More screeching and shrieking ensues.
In general this server is on the look out for phone numbers. He chats up women at tables. He chats up women at my bar. He’s on a mission. So I assume after waiting on a table full of women covered in penises, he’ll be able to add his to the mix. They leave and he does not get a single phone number.
Later that night my bar manager complains to me about not getting laid. He declares,
“If that server can stage a proposal better than the real one and none of the other women gave him their number, what chance do I have?”
|I couldn’t find the antlers, but there’s a large selection of penis slippers.|