Look, I’m not saying that I hate you, I just- we should probably slow things down for a little while, ya know?
I’m just worried we’re getting too serious.
I mean, four nights a week?
It’s just- I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment, ya know?
Plus, well, considering I work in a bar, I’m kinda missing out on my 20s.
I mean, do you even know the last time I was up to watch Saturday morning cartoons?
Getting out at 3 :30 AM, making it home by 4, who has the energy to wake up at 8 AM for Scooby-Doo reruns?
It’s not fair, damnit. These are the prime years of my life and I’m, what, spending them working?!?
… actually, yeah, no, that sounds about right.
Yeah, I don’t think I’m comin’ in today.
Think I mighta drank a little too much last night, so I’m feelin’ a little ache-y and just kinda tired all-around.
I mean, as bar owners, I’d imagine you understand the “drank too much” defense, yeah?
Okay, good. so yeah, I’ll see ya next week… or whenever I feel like it, sound good?
… yeah, I wish that was how it worked too.
See you at 9. Sharp.
Dear Lady Who Wanted A Beer When I Was Left Alone at the Bar,
Sorry it took me so long. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I was technically allowed to serve you. North Carolina has weird liquor laws. I don’t quite get ’em, but I figured it was better safe than sorry. By the time I got the beer, I couldn’t find a bottle opener. Luckily, you seemed pretty wasted… Why do I say that? Well, as I took forever, you kept telling me how adorable I was… and asked me if I was single. I’m used to people being kinda weird. I mean, hell, just, like, 15 minutes earlier, a guy tried to put his hands down my pants… at least you were kinda classy about it. But when you jiggled my stomach? That got pretty weird. So maybe we could skip you touching my stomach during our next social interaction? Please and thank you?
Look, while I’m all for a suggestive name, I’ve always been a fan of the underrated charm of a little subtlety.
Oh, so you’re a gay bar named a euphemism for male genitalia? How daring! Nobody’s ever done that before!
Why don’t you take some of the money you’ve clearly spent on your Facebook advertising budget (seriously, every time I log on, I see Wang’s… okay, that one was a little funny) and spend it on a new creative team that can brand you a little better?
I know this is West Hollywood and your usual customers are probably clamoring for your attention, but this guy? Not into it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re a nice guy and I’m glad we formed that undying bond where we were both born in Ohio, but did you notice that lull after you said you were from Toledo after I explained I was born in Cincinnati?
Yeah, that’s the sound of casual disinterest.
More specifically, that’s the sound of me silently praying to God that the small talk portion of the evening is over and I can go back to reading my book.
No, seriously, I get it. You’re used to trying to chat people up.
It’s usually how you earn a decent tip. I respect that.
Only, here’s the thing. I’m much more likely to give you a better tip if you just stop talking to me and let me read my book and drink my Guinness.
Dear Chicago Friend,
How’ve you been? I’m sure life has been lonely without me, now that I’ve moved out to California.
I’m sorry you’re working through your abandonment issues by drinking, but that’s no excuse for what you did last night.
“At Joe’s. Thought I’d make you jealous.”
You know that I love Joe’s! In fact, of all the things I miss in Chicago, that bar is, like, top 10.
So that text? Well, I thought I’d let you know it worked.
I am sufficiently jealous.
Thanks a lot, jerk.
Dear Bar Patron,
I don’t think of myself as the most difficult guy.
In fact, I tend to be pretty easygoing.
But everybody has their limits, right? It’s not that I’m not flattered, but there’s something to be said about your approach.
Directness is usually a good thing, but there’s an exception to just about every rule.
For instance, is a little witty banter too much to ask?
Judging from the dumbfound expression on your face when I didn’t respond to your charm, I’d say any sort of wit might be a stretch, but it was worth a shot.
Even if you’re not the most sparkling conversationalist, “you’re hot” is easily the worst excuse for a pick-up line I’ve ever heard.
Then let’s talk about your choice of location.
I practically ran into as I headed into the bathroom. When I apologized for my inadvertent rudeness, I was met with, “Don’t be sorry. You’re hot.”
Now, like I said, that’s never really a winning line, but the fact that I could smell the cheap vodka on your breath mixed with the pungent aroma of urinal cakes? Well, it certainly didn’t help your case.
In short, you’ve got some work to do, buddy, but here’s to hoping next time.