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.
Not that I don’t appreciate you hitting me up to lemme know you need a door guy tonight, I feel like there are appropriate channels of communication…
Phone? Preferred method.
Text? Slightly less professional, but still, gets the job done.
Grindr? Okay, yeah, we gotta draw the line somewhere…
I mean, yes, I work at a gay bar, but that’s- like, that’s weird, right? That’s not just me?
Okay, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I swear, if I get even one uncomfortably long, and overly familiar shoulder pat, we are gonna have words!
… or just as, if not more, likely, I’ll write a blog entry about it and never tell you to your face cuz you’re scarier than Bowser when you’re mad.
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?
I’m just not a touchy guy, okay?
Look, I like you. You seem like a good guy.
Plus, you’re a pretty fun drunk.
I just have one tiny request… could you please stop trying to run your hands through my chest hair?
Okay, yes, I know it’s luxurious and I’m pretty irresistible (yes, that’s what we’re goin’ with) but this is the third time I’ve had to remove your hand from down my shirt.
I’ve only worked four shifts! And you weren’t there for one of ’em!
So, in case you’re bad with math, that is one hundred percent of the time that you have groped me.
You’re a good guy and all, but I- I know that I make a living off of tips, but no tips are worth that, okay?
Dear Beach Cops,
I’m sure what you do is very serious work… well, allow me to rephrase that. I’m sure you think what you do is very serious work. Ya know, preventing people from getting handjobs at night while they hang out in the lifeguard towers is a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it, right?
All I’m saying is, you might not wanna be so sanctimonious about the work that you do. I mean, after all, what’s the harm in skinnydipping in the Pacific Ocean at night? … what, I mean, that was just, like a random example that came to mind, no reason at all. Nope. Never done that before… certainly not last night…
Ya know what? I’m just gonna leave it at good job beach cops. I don’t wanna further incriminate myself.