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A Weird Vibe

Last night had a really weird and annoying vibe — even the bartenders made more than a few comments about just how pissed the majority of the crowd at the Toronado was making them. There were hordes of yuppies there last night, a lot more so than usual. They were doing those typical Things Which Drive Me Up A Wall, like the guy who squeezed himself into the nonexistent space at the bar between me and the person next to me, then leaned all over me while nauseatingly rubbing his shiny-blonde-haired girlfriend’s back. It wasn’t a massage-type backrub, either, but that up-and-down-then-circular nonstop I Want To Get Laid Tonight kind of backrub, but seeing that he had some weird, three-inch wide growths of facial hair that couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be a beard or a pair of sideburns, I don’t think that it looked too promising. Then there was that guy who ordered a beer and conducted the whole ordering, paying and reaching transaction right in between Avery and me, who were seated fairly close to one another and who just so happened to be engaged in conversation at that point. If searching out the smallest, most crowded, non-space at the bar to order from wasn’t bad enough, I guess that he decided he no longer needed his coaster, because he then reached in between us (again) and tossed it right on top of all of our money and assorted other stuff that we had sitting there.

Even though the bartenders don’t have too much time to chat when the bar is really busy, you learn to recognize when they’re just getting fed up with crowds of people asking the same, often stupid questions over and over and over again. When Johnny came over to take an order from one girl who happened to be standing next to me, she pointed to a liter stein full of beer that was sitting at the end of the bar (the owner had gone to the restroom) and said that she wanted “that.” Johnny replied <insert mild annoyance pause here> “How do you know just by looking at that beer, that that’s the one you want?” “I just know.” said the girl, snottily. Johnny pauses <insert pissed as hell pause here>, gets her a beer, brings it over and says, “I just made an assumption of which beer was in that glass, since I didn’t serve it to him.” That girl was probably related to the one who wanted a certain beer because it had a cool picture of a chicken on the tap handle. Let’s go over this one more time: Right reason to Order a Certain Beer: Because it tastes good. Wrong reason: Because it’s lovely shade of yellow matches your new blouse.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.

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