“I want my money back.”
I cringe. My answer – there are no returns on drinks – will not make him a happy camper. I try another tactic.
“Why don’t you order another drink on the house?”
Accept the drink. Accept the drink.
A sparkle appears in his eye and I swear under my breath. This is not going to be good. “I’ll have a Ramos Gin Fizz.”
Crap. A Ramos Gin Fizz requires shaking for at least ten minutes, and the line behind him is already growing after all of his complaining.
“Coming right up. I am required to warn you that a Ramos Gin Fizz contains raw eggs.” There is no such requirement, but people are freaked out by raw eggs. Let’s hope Mr. Complainer is freaked out, too.
“Raw eggs?” His nose wrinkles. “I’ve never had a Ramos Gin Fizz with raw egg before.”
“Then, you haven’t had a Ramos Gin Fizz. The recipe calls for egg white.”
I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. “Fine. I’ll have a regular gin fizz.”
“Coming right up.”
A gin fizz is a simple cocktail of gin, lemon juice, sugar, and soda water. It doesn’t require at least ten minutes of shaking to emulsify the cream and egg white.
“Good job,” Dave mutters to me when I grab a bottle of gin from the shelf.
His words warm my heart. Dave could easily fight me for the assistant manager position. He’s worked atBootleggernearly as long as I have. And he doesn’t have a habit of bringing his dog to work. Or being late. Or forgetting the shipment of beer is coming early.
But he’s not interested in the position. I am. And I can do this. I can be the assistant manager.
I prepare the gin fizz and set it down on the bar in front of the customer. “Here you are. Enjoy.”
He doesn’t walk away – of course not – he sips on the drink in front of me while blocking other customers from being served.
“This is acceptable,” he says and finally wanders away.
“I want to try the moonshine,” the customer behind him says and I nearly groan. “Don’t worry. I can handle my liquor.” He winks and now I do groan.
I pour his drink and hand it to him. I’m about to serve the next customer when I notice a commotion near the entrance to the bathrooms.
“I’ll be right back,” I holler to Dave.
He nods and I make my way to the crowd. “What’s happening?”
“There’s a dog in the women’s restroom.”
I have a sneaking suspicion I know what dog it is. I push through the group until I reach the office. Sure enough, the door is hanging open. I hope he didn’t break the door. I can’t hide a broken door from Harper.
I shut the door before returning to the crowd. I bypass the line to the restroom and enter. There’s a group of women gathered around an open stall.
Before I reach the stall, I can hear slurping. The kind of slurping only a dog makes. Great. Boozer is drinking the toilet water.
I grab his collar and pull him away.
“Hey!” a woman shouts. “What are you doing? You can’t abuse animals this way.”
“This is my dog, Boozer.”
She frowns at me. “Why are you letting him drink from the toilet? There could be germs in there.”
