Guy comes in, sits at my bar. I greet him, ask him if I could get him a drink, start to tell him the drink specials, but he informs me he doesn’t drink.
Okay, whatever, so I offer him a menu.
He’s not hungry. But, he’d like a water.
Okay, no problem. He wants it “as full as possible with ice.”
Okay, sure. I do this. Place it in front of him, he pulls the straw out, and decides to drink it directly from the cup, which unless it’s a cocktail, is how I drink.
Now, we have plastic cups. Not like the hard plastic ones that have the Coke or Pepsi logos on the side. Like, the bendable plastic cups that come in sleeves of 50 or 100, you use once and toss. That’s all we have.
I don’t make the decision on what we serve in, nor do I care. I’ve had people on here say it’s not a real bar if you don’t have glass, funny, my fake bar makes a lot of real money. I’ve had people say I should go somewhere that does…
Because I should leave my job, that though can be stressful, allows me to make both good and consistent money? If you would leave that type of setting because of the owner’s decision on what to serve in… I’m sure you’re a financial genius, good luck moving out of your mom’s house before you’re 37.
Anyhow, Water-Guy picks this cup up and brings it to his lips, but instead of drinking like an adult with a functioning brain, he squeezes it. Like, squeezes the cup… Again, it’s “as full as possible” with ice and water. So water goes everywhere, ice is falling out.
“Oops. I’m sorry, I like to feel the ice near my face.”
I sigh. In my mind I stab him with a fork. I go over, clean up the spill, refill his cup with not as much ice, and hand it back to him.
This is what I get for being polite. This is what I get for saying to myself a minute before, “Eh, you have open seats. Pick your battles. It’s way too early to tell someone they’re loitering. It’s going to be a long weekend.”
Not ten seconds pass, I hear it. Ice and water hit the bar.
I look over, his sexual-frustration cup-squeeze was so extreme this time, the cup is destroyed. Maybe he saw some cleavage on TV. He looks over, and apologizes… Which was good, because at this point I’m actually running him over with a tractor in my mind.
I clean the water, ice and cup up, dry the area off. I go to just walk off and he asked for another water.
At this point, it’s my fault. This being nice thing, it doesn’t suit me, but sometimes I try.
I tell him I’ll give him one more water, but he has to drink it like a big boy.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t super-nice of me, but whatever. Fuck him.
I fill a new cup with water, some ice, and a straw, I hand it to him… 30 seconds pass. I hear it.
I turn. Puddle of water. I walk over. I clean the spill… Maybe a little too violently… Because some of the water accidentally got on him. In my defense, at this point, in my mind I’ve traveled back in time and donkey-punched his grandmother.
He asks for another.
He really asks for another.
“You’re cut off.”
“That’s the sad thing. You’re sober. You’re cut off from water. You are literally unable to drink a water like an adult. No. Like a human. You can’t have anything else to drink.”
And that, that is the time I had to cut someone off from drinking water.