The sexy, big boob server was flirtatious and touchy. “Oh my god, you’re so hot,” she finally said as she leaned in. Pissed off that I was in my 30s and unavailable I thought “where the hell were you all those years I was single!”

***

It was near the end of my career, my second last job in fact. I was so sick of bartending I’d stopped applying for FOH positions and only remained in the industry because Bryon had dragged me into another restaurant. I would’ve refused except I couldn’t find other work at the time and my degree was worthless due to the pitiful state of the economy after Covid. However, this time I worked mostly behind the scenes, which was fine by me. I did research about rival restaurants, made reports about the state of the industry, and created mods for the POS system. I even wrote a speech for Bryon for a meeting to motivate his lazy, mutinous crew. Given I still hadn’t taken public relations at the time and no longer had my heart left the industry I was told it landed cold and flat. 

The place was a pub downtown and thanks to the defund the police movement back then cop patrols had been minimized. This meant druggies and thugs roamed the area, harassed people, and drove away business. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been disrespected by enough cops, for no reason, to realize the movement had some points. But I’m also a pragmatist who understands nations need law and order and without them society just devolve into anarchy and might means right. Like bouncers, the police are a necessary evil in an imperfect world. Because I’m okay to have suffered the five to six bad encounters I’ve had with police officers versus the dozens of hostile ones I’ve had with potentially violent customers that didn’t escalate because the cops were just a call away.

Anyway, the real world consequences of the defund the police movement was reaped upon downtown, the bar, and worst of all Bryon’s health. He already had enough issues with his insolent staff, obnoxious customers, and entitled, daddy’s boys owners. But then also having to deal with countless thugs, druggies, prostitutes, and vagabonds likely shortened the lifespan of my best friend and honorary older brother. 

One day I’ll forgive what the industry did to me… but I’ll never FORGIVE what it did to Bryon!

He told me of people overdosing in the back alley, of others being stabbed a stone’s throw from the pub, and the case of a drunk, drugged up woman who had to be separated from her baby… who had bruises and cigarette burns everywhere. I don’t love babies, I don’t want any, but what kind of person could do that to one?

Despite ALL of this Bryon did everything he could to save the bar. Either out of professionalism, how he was raised, or simply because the industry was all he’d ever known. While most of his employees bitched, stole, and snorted blow he was there every day fighting for a bar that didn’t deserve his greatness. If he could do that with all his health problems I decided I could do the few tasks he asked of me to help him out. Thus, with some reluctance, I headed out one afternoon to brave the cold and array of sketchy people downtown to get to the pub.

***

I walked into the place with minimal enthusiasm and Bryon gave me a perfunctory tour. It was a typical dive bar, I met some employees, and was polite more than friendly as I was exhausted of the constant acting the industry expects. Because that’s mostly for the FOH, who need it to deal with the general public and acquire tips. As I was given a flat rate and wouldn’t have to deal with many human beings I didn’t have to put on my bartender’s mask. I wasn’t expected to charm or engage anyone in meaningful conversation.

This was easy until I found a potential, tempting exception!

As we neared the keg room a hot, tall, scantily clad brunette came around the corner. She was so sexy my pupils dilated instantly and I had to quickly manage my attraction. Fortunately, this was easy as I was tired and depressed that day, and during such occasions my social interactions fell back on autopilot. Bryon introduced us, she gave me a genuine smile, and we shook hands. Her name, for the story at least, is Betty.

When she turned to leave I checked her out… from head to toe. “At least something will be pleasant to deal with today,” I thought. Betty turned out to be older than I thought, at 40, but she could’ve passed as 30. Given I was 38 at the time she definitely peaked my interest. Betty was slim, curvy,  had a cute face, and thanks to her open shirt, clearly endowed. Many women could find such comments crude, but how many use EVERY asset to get ahead and manipulate men? And how many make similar objectifying comments about men without reciprocal outrage? 

Anyway, despite all of this I banished all immediate evil thoughts from my mind and got to work. It would be a long day at the bar. I had to go through the POS and document EACH button and option, and then create mod after mod, after mod. It was tedious and boring but at least I didn’t have to deal with customers. Because whenever one approached the bar to ask for something I pointed out the actual bartender. I did this in a polite manner when people were nice and in a cold, almost fuck off vibe when they weren’t (it was a rough place).

I can’t remember every mod for obvious reasons they included mundane shit like add ons for fries, ranch, bacon, and other upsells. It also had things for the bar like ordering doubles or mods such as neat, on the rocks, etc. I did these soulless, bureaucratic tasks for 2, 3, or even 5 hours. I’ve no fucking idea, I was just grateful when I got to sit down in a booth afterwards. At that point either I finished a report for Bryon, or wrote something about history. Hell, maybe I played a tank or naval game on my iPad.

Suddenly, Betty came by my booth and dropped off a bag of party stuff… roughly. Did I mention the restaurant was doing a 90s theme party that night. Had I not been sleep walking through life at the time I may have enjoyed it… since the 90s was the last great decade (for me at least). Instead, I registered her act as a threat. Thanks to the toll of 15 years of mercurial customers, incompetent managers, and toxic waitresses I’d become hyper-vigilant whenever entering a bar. Any sudden movement or loud noise could set me off, no matter how silly or innocuous… like a shell-shocked soldier after Vietnam. It’s a sad, defensive way to live, especially since 99% of the time no one is actually out to get you.

Because Betty wasn’t busting my balls, marking her territory, or whatever ridiculous, absurd thing I felt at the time. She was trying to get my attention and give me an excuse to flirt. But when you’ve been burnt by more waitresses than a 60 year old trucker at Hooters you dismiss even the most blatant signs of attraction.

***

As it was mid-afternoon on a weekday Betty had no tables and soon came to my booth. Being exhausted and unsociable at the time I engaged her in polite, small talk but initially nothing more. I was also intimidated by her sex appeal and assumed she was only there to sort out the party items. Indeed, she began going through the various things in a haphazard, almost amused fashion. 

But it soon became clear Betty was there to gauge if I had any interest in her. It took me awhile to pick up this, despite the fact she had nothing obvious (like tips) to gain from me. Because as I’ve seen waitresses fight over $3 tip tables in the most gross, disreputable bars my view of human nature had been somewhat coloured forever. And even had I wanted to charm Betty I wasn’t used to flirting without being paid (thanks to devoting such efforts almost exclusively to bartending) and I was tired and out of practice.

Anyway, Betty sat in the booth and inched towards me incrementally. Then she got more chatty and warm, in-spite of my continued relative aloofness. However, such developments weren’t unwelcome by me, despite not being single. After all, you can look… you just can’t touch!

Betty then took a party wristband and pretended she couldn’t put it back on. Perhaps she was just drunk and clumsy (Bryon later told me she’d sometimes down a mickey of whiskey before work). But I saw no signs of intoxication, especially as drunk girls tend to be more visible than drunk men. Anyway, she finally become bold and asked me to help put it on. 

Conveniently ignoring my philosophy of look but don’t touch I came to Betty’s aid. After all, I’m often a people pleaser and didn’t want to be rude. I tried putting the wristband on her hand without touching her soft, sensual skin. But it wasn’t easy, not least because while I’m cerebral and cunning I can be found wanting regarding practical tasks. I can change a tire, mow a lawn, and make a grilled cheese sandwich, but that’s about it.

However, there’s another reason I found it hard to put the wristband on Betty’s hand. She kept moving around just enough to make it difficult, “forcing me” to grab her arm and hand to steady them to accomplish this vital objective. She complicated this by touching my hands and arms to “help me” do this. And being a red blooded male, who found her smoking hot, this made it nearly impossible to finish the job.

Eventually, I succeeded, we both smiled at each other, but I then realized we were still touching. At last I remembered my forever loyal girlfriend and let go instantly. But I’ve often worn my emotions on my sleeve and Betty sensed the sexual tension, even if I tried shielding it by this inglorious retreat. I tried lowering the temperature by closing off my body language and slowly withdrawing from the conversation. But Betty didn’t give up so easily. 

Being older, confident, and aggressive she just went for it, which I admire since most girls never have the guts to make the first move. She leaned in, looked me directed in the eyes and said, “oh my god, you’re so hot.” Pissed off that I was in my late 30s and unavailable I thought “where the hell were you all those years I was single.” Because if I didn’t have a girlfriend I would’ve been all over her. Instead, I gave a weak smile, commented how I wasn’t in peak physical shape, and brushed aside her advance with some lame excuse.

***

I’m not sure what finally put an end to this awkward exchange. Maybe a table was sat in Betty’s section and she had to get up and go back to work. Or maybe Bryon, who had seen this farce unfold long enough, decided to intervene. Being an ideal friend he never interrupted such pleasant encounters until it became necessary to remind me of my uniquely lovely and loyal girlfriend.

I can’t remember but I had mixed feelings as Betty left. On one hand, I was relieved the situation had resolved itself and temptation was removed from my grasp. But on the other hand, I was bitter. Bitter such situations only presented themselves when I was taken, oblivious, or a mess of a human being.

Because as Betty left and walked away I scanned her hot body from head to toe one last time. It would be another lost opportunity in a series of things I never received or accomplished in my long, checkered career… another cold what if instead of a hot what did. I don’t believe in karma, fate, God, or that everything happens for a reason.

But I wonder if things sometimes happen for a reason, or if we live in a Matrix like simulation where outside players enjoys placing us in tempting situations and have sadistic pleasure in constantly denying us what we really want… and sometimes just need. Either way, it was the last time I worked there in person and once Bryon no longer needed my services, and a better opportunity presented itself I gladly walked away. 

I was out of the industry and convinced I’d just finished my last job in the bar scene. But the new opportunity was fool’s gold and once again I started to run out of money. So I had to return to bartending for one… final time.