“Is it okay if it's in a copper mug? We’re a little short on glasses.” I ran another customer's card while taking the duo’s order.
“Like a mule? You can’t serve me Guinness in that! What about them, over there?!” He points to a stack of dirty glasses off to the side.
“Sorry, those are unwashed. We’re a little short on help today.”
His friend remains quiet, typing away on his phone as if he could care less if he even had a drink at all.
“Then pop-off and wash ‘em, doll. I’ll wait.” He leans back on his stool, chewing on the tiny sliver of wood.
“Look! You can either have your beer in a shiny mug, or you can get it somewhere else,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m not going anywhere!” The wisecracker leans forward onto the bar, attempting to grab a bottle of whatever is within reach.
His companion who once couldn’t be bothered to look up, abruptly slams down his hand onto the top of the bar. The slapping sound makes me jump, finding his smokey gaze fixed on me. Without a word, he stands from his chair and proceeds to walk down the length of the bar, only to come around to the employee’s side.
“Hey! You can’t be back here!” I shout, stomping over to the audacious man before the bar sinks.
Standing beside him, I didn’t feel quite as brave. He’s big. Intense… with broad shoulders, he’s a wall of muscle. My eyes naturally travel over his body. What do I do? Push him to the other side of the counter?
“Please, leave!”
He ignores my rants and pleas, only to begin filling one of the sink vats with hot water.
Am I invisible or is there just a small sign on my forehead reading,DOORMAT?!
Jada and Brittany both lift an eyebrow, still they carry on serving drinks and taking orders.
This has in fact been the longest day ever and it’s not even midnight. I’m not paid enough for this shit.
The introverted dishwasher stands there until we have nearly every available glass cleaned and stacked on the rubber mat, atop the counter. We are finally able to serve the right drink in its appropriate glass, but I also felt helpless within this man’s presence, as desperate as we were or not. Honestly, this random guy probably secured all of us getting home before 3 a.m. With a bar towel draped over his shoulder, he helps himself to a tap, two clean glasses in tow.
As he comes close, my eyes track down to his neck. Something is there; barely visible in the dim light. A jagged pink scar spans the front of his throat. I coughed, in a feeble attempt to cover the fact that I forgot how to breathe. What is wrong with me?
He proceeds to pour two perfect Guinness for himself and his unhelpful friend, who now has a bleach blond with huge knockers sitting on his lap.
Clearly, he has moved on from the glass debacle, paying no mind to his friend who just did manual labor for his dark, malt beverage.
The reserved man, passes by me again, returning to his stool, sits beside his friend; like nothing transpired.
Connor shows up shortly before closing, explaining how he needed to take Cassie to the ER because her at-home treatment wasn’t working.
As relieved as we are to have him back, we are all worried about Cassie’s health.
Most of the customers funneled out long before closing time, including the brutes who occupied the space at the end of the bar.
We have most of the final tasks underway, as I hear the jingle of the door’s bell.
I look up to find the same devilishly handsome man, It’s Eamon actually, stride into The Black Sheep.
“Hey.” He stops at the bar and takes a seat on the stool in front of me.
“Hey back.” I continue cleaning the nozzles as he watches me carefully.
“Last call was five minutes ago, I hope you didn’t want a drink.”
He smiles. “It’s okay. I wasn’t in the mood for a drink. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay, you already said you had an event at your club tonight.” I start covering the containers of the lemons, cherries, and olives with plastic wrap.
