Sundays are usually a slow start to an even slower night. But I guess today wasn’t the case because in the first half hour of my shift the bar filled up. And I mean filled up as in not an empty table plus a couple on the patio and one or two in a station not in my periphery which means working at trying to remember those customers even exist, let alone taking their order. The guy at the bar is asking me about my life and I’m happy to share and we get to talking and I get to telling him my hopes and dreams, you know, small talk. And the conversation goes something like this.

“I’d like to be a writer.”

“Ha. Good luck with that. No one cares about you. No one cares about what you have to say. No one cares worth a damn.”

“Well, be that as it may I’d like a career that fulfills me.”

“Yeah, talk to me in 20 years. In 20 years I’ll come back and you can let me know how that’s worked out for you.”

Listen, buddy, I’m sorry that you sold your soul for whatever shitty sales job you’re stuck in at the moment but some of us have other things in mind. I don’t want to be coming up on 70 sitting in a bar and ruining the dreams of the girl whose only talking to me only because she’s paid to do so. His wife is sitting next to him and she hasn’t so much as looked in his direction for the last half hour and I can’t say I blame her. He’s putting ice cubes in his Merlot and asking the busboys if they can provide documentation regarding their legal status in this country.

“Well, I would find you in 20 years but you’ll probably be long gone by then.”

I don’t write checks that I can’t cash so if he forgets to tip me, that’s fine. I’ll live. His ten percent wasn’t going to do much for me anyway.

As he goes to leave I send a silent prayer up to whatever gods may be and turn to my right where yet another problem customer sits loudly discussing the merits of Donald Trump and informing the entirety of the bar that AIDS is a homosexual disease and you’re done. That’s it. I’ve had enough. There’s no hate speech in this bar you were crossing the line when you started endorsing Donald Trump but now you’ve gone too far here is your check and there is the door.

I’m wondering what makes any of you think that any of us have any desire to listen to any of the bullshit that flows out of your mouth.

And while I’m over here having this existential crisis wondering how we are ever going to restore the tumultuous creation that is humanity the new couple sitting at the end of the bar is trying to haggle me for the Happy Hour discount despite the fact that they came in ten minutes after Happy Hour had ended.

“But you were busy and we had to wait for you to get here.”

Nope. Nice try. You are clever and you are cunning and conniving but you aren’t smarter than me I’ve heard this song before I’ve danced this dance I’ll go check those cameras right now and I’ll screenshot a charming, and slightly creepy, little image of you walking in at 6:40. I’m busy but I’m not blind and even as I’m flying around this room from table to table I’ve got my eye on every corner and I know exactly who is coming in and when. Go manipulate someone else or pay full price—the choice is yours.

But they can’t let it go. They’re going to sit at the bar for the next hour and punish me with snide comments, sideways glances, and bitchy snickers.

“I’m pretty sure we asked for pickles so if we could get some that would be great.” Cue the snicker. His wife’s diamond ring is so heavy she can barely lift her wineglass.   She doesn’t have the same problem with her face, however; they must have a great plastic surgeon on retainer because her cheekbones have been so lifted she’s evolved into an entirely different race. Cats really missed out on this one. Shame on you, Broadway.

“Some time today would be nice.”

Real cute. Now you’re just being rude. And if you think I have any qualms about telling you so you’re mistaken because I don’t love my job that much and I have an obligation to humanity to make sure that people like you are fully aware of the fact that you are assholes.

By this point I’m starving because anger works up quite the appetite and the chick over at table 103 only ate half of her chicken fingers and she looks normal enough so I’m going to sneak into the Beer Fridge with a side of Ranch and down those bad boys real quick. Anything to stave off these hunger pains right now I’m at about 75% capacity for tolerating your bullshit but if I don’t get something in my stomach I’ll drop down to 25% real quick.   And that ain’t pretty plus it puts me in the liable to get fired category and my Student Loan Payment Plan just took affect so it’s in my best interest to keep this job.

Anthony and Cleopatra will eventually leave and the homophobe is gone I kicked him out hours ago and the dream killer with his red wine on the rocks stumbled out when he realized his wife was going home with the young man sitting to her left. Looks like his dreams have been crushed maybe he can get together with Rick Santorum over there and discuss illegal immigration all night. Maybe they’ll solve world peace while they’re at it or find a cure for cancer and I’ll take all the credit for introducing those great minds on a busy Sunday night in a quiet little bar where nothing normal ever happens.