when he pours, he reigns
a couple of nights ago, i went out for drinks with a friend. due to a recently implemented "new activity" policy, we decided to go to a place where neither of us had been.
we sidled up to the bar and ordered some drinks. i was looking out onto the street while she had a full view of the bartenders. it wasn't two minutes before i saw her wince.
and then she scowled. "they're doing tricks. the bartenders are doing little tricks."
i turned just in time to see a martini shaker roll up someone's arm. "oh jeese. they ARE doing tricks."
i saw a flash of orange reflect against her face and then my drink appeared.
"was this on fire?" i asked.
"yes it was." she avoided my gaze. she was mad.
"you know, i'm a simple girl. i didn't need this juggled at me. i don't want it anymore. i'm too embarrassed."
"well everyone's already seen you and your on-fire drink."
i took a sip. i wished all the alcohol had not been burned off. "look," i said. "i can understand you're annoyed. we can switch spots if you like. but i warn you, i've got a view of a wall of overweight, undersunned men. it ain't pretty." i turned around again. one bartender was slinging bottles like they were guns in the wild west.
"let’s just finish these," i pointed sheepishly to our drinks, "and we'll go."
"oh you can't leave just yet," said the bartender, gaëtan, when we asked for our bill. "we're about to do our spectacle. raspberry shooters for everyone!"
what can i tell you about the spectacle except that there was, among other things, spillage, a mild cascading of bottles, and one missed behind-the-back catch. it all ended, quite flaringly, with two bartenders spitting their raspberry shooters over a flaming pyramid of the same. the left side of my body burned.
"we're done here," said my friend as she downed her shooter. "and i can't WAIT to hear what your boyfriend is going to say.
"yeah, "flair" bartending," he told me the next day. "it's huge."
"well i've never seen it before. well, not since cocktail with your friend tom cruise."
"you know, it's really telling of these times. when everything lacks substance. you won't notice that what you bought sucks because you're being bedazzled."
"there were a lot of girls there. all girls. except one wall of greasy men."
"it's for girls. i don't know many men who'd be impressed by that."
"imagine if i was forced, say to save the universe or something, to date someone who loved - just loved - flair bartending."
he grimaced. "it doesn't impress me at all. in fact, it makes me quite uncomfortable."
1 Comments:
Well, as you know - life has a soundtrack. And the song playing loudly in my stunned ears as I was reading this post - where I'm ashamed to admit it - was Shania Twain's "That Don't Impress Me Much" - and I hate Shania Twain.
All this to say - I'm feeling your pain!~
While in Halifax, Dave and I were much more entertained by the British Fleet - who - as reported by our server - had been there at the bar drinking for several hours already. There was an impressive argument with the boss that ended in him saying to his ensign (or whomever) "Look. You need to walk out of this place right now. If I see you once more tonight - and you try to speak with me, don't bother showing up in the morning..." Very much so better than TV - or the Coyote Ugly tricks of bartenders.
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