Bartending is a shit job if you have a brain. People come in and talk to you like you’re stupid; explain the simplest things you already know and then make you pour them shit. The whole time you are doing this, you are expected to be grateful so they throw an extra dollar or two on top of the already overpriced diluted experience.
You smile, you grin, you chew your gum, and giggle. A total lie, which was befitting as I was living a total lie with my Ex, Doug. He was very smart and when we met, I was too.
He liked me in this position, subservient. He was the breadwinner, but while I slept after getting off work at 6 or 4am he took all the sticky ones in my purse. Then around noon would walk to the nearest craft beer store where they were spent.
Around 1p before he had work, I got a drunk smelly kiss on the side of my head as I slept. Then as I roused I watched him drunkenly stumble down the stairs to get on the bus to go to his job. In the sink, no fail, would be 3 empty IPAs, porters, or other equally expensive boutique brand craft beers.
Then after cleaning up after him, around 4p I would get on the bus and head to my bartender job. This obviously made me totally hate him. We had one good day a week together and after a few months of this I had enough. I became the cheating girlfriend I was today.
It was a Thursday night, and this was not the first time I had seen this customer trying to get eye contact at my bar. It was the first time I’d seen him with the Obama button on his suit.
“How you doing tonight?” I asked him, half feigning interest in what he was about to say.
“Just escaping after a hard day at work…” he told me slowly, then took his crystal baby blues up to catch mine. “I hide down here in my parent’s beach house after I can’t stand Philadelphia anymore.” He was tall, had a receding hairline for a man in his mid 30’s, crystal blue eyes, was in a suit that looked like it was on day 3, and had a smile I couldn’t look away from.
“I understand. I escaped that city a few years ago.” I told him. “Will you be voting Obama like myself?” I asked (it was 2008) referring to his button.
“Of course” he pronounced straightening up in his chair, “I also don’t have a choice….he’s my boss.”
“Oh really” I said before I ignored the rest of the customers at my bar for the next 15 minutes while I listened to the uninterrupted version of the presidential campaign from an insider.
“You are ALREADY VOTING OBAMA, now you can get me a bud!” an angry customer shouted from the end of the bar.
The rest of the night I spent knee deep in his every politically saturated word. Until I got busy, it got late, and he left.
Days went by, and I thought of those blue eyes. I thought of the life of a politician and his wife. Drunk in day dreams, each day at work I cross my fingers to see him again.
My man was so disinterested in my daily indulgence in the paper and the world. He thought me so dull that I didn’t care of the day to day. Really he knew nothing of me or my interests.
It was a Friday night when he came back in, and my bar was SWAMPED. I had no time to talk to him or spend staring deeply into his eyes. Around 1am after 3 or 4 whiskeys he left me a 20$ and his number to get breakfast.
Around 4:30am I texted him, said I was getting out of work, and proceeded to meet him at a breakfast spot where we talked nonstop. After, 9 missed calls from my man, I left him with a hug and was smitten. I lay next to my dude sweating the politician stranger.
That next Saturday I woke up to messages from him, pictures on the beach, a sure sign I was in his mind.
That night he didn’t show up and a week passed before he was back the following friday. My heart leapt into my throat, and his shit eating grin said he knew he had me.
The night went on as usual, he was wasted, and he stayed all night. Drink after drink, my drinking complimented his. At the end of the night, my drawer was short and before I knew what had happened I was in his front seat sucking his soul out.
Our passionate make out session continued into the the early morning and besides touching his boner through his jeans I left the car before it went too far.
I saw him once again in January the next year, standing behind Barak Obama during his inauguration.
***DISCLAIMER***This story, in its entirety, is a work of fiction. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know. Any similarity to anyone that ever existed is a coincidence. The characters are not real people, they are products of my imagination. That is all I have to say about that. Celebrity Sex***