The Bruins lost last night. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I don’t care. What they needed was a triple D, dirty dangle, top cheddar, light the lamp and get the biscuit in the basket kid.
Yeah that’s right, I know how to talk hockey. All thanks to my fellow bartender who cares a lot more than I do.
In the middle of the hockey, two wasted guys manage to watch the game and hit on me at the same time. One says something obnoxious. A favorite regular of mine is a few seats over. He cringes. I deliver his cocktail with a heart on top of the foam. He tells me,
“You do this for all the girls.”
“No, just for you.”
The two obnoxious guys continue louder, now that I’m bestowing hearts on others. The beloved regular turns on the two guys. Uhoh. I see the makings of a tiff. The regular starts hitting on them and he doesn’t stop. I’ve never seen two men who wanted to drink leave so quickly. The regular turns to me,
“Someone had to go, them or me and I didn’t want to leave you alone with them.”