The bartender and the guy
A SHORT STORY
“Why you gotta snatch my money like that dun!?”
The bartender spun around. He hadn’t quite heard him.
“What?”
“Why you snatchin my money like that dun!? You ain’t gotta snatch my money that!”
Still hadn’t heard.
Something about snatching.
The accusatory extended palms and bewildered glare however, clearly screamed of either acute displeasure or playful sarcasm. The bartender let precisely two seconds pass; the usual amount of time it took to win that ‘end-of-a-joke’ smile. It didn’t come. Simple math.
“Nobody snatched your money mate.”
That was a lie. He had, of course, fully snatched his money. It was busy, the order was an annoying one, finally received after much turning around (on the guy’s part) and asking ‘what do you want?’ to all of the friends; and impossibly timed right when the bartender was about to try and serve that cute blond next to the brunette he met last week. (He’d lost out on that now, noted out of the periphery of his sight, as the blond was unsuspectingly being taken care of by THAT bartender). Of course, finally, when the drinks were poured and admittedly (although accidentally) sloppily carried over, the guy not only wasn’t ready to pay; with his back to the bar and friends in the ‘we just got drinks’ circle; it appeared as if he had conveniently forgotten he had to.
Three times the bartender had to call out to him. The third time, really loudly.
“MATE!!!”
Although, the music was loud. So perhaps the third time was actually quite an appropriate and necessary volume. Still, when after maybe twenty seconds of waiting, that fifty dollar bill was outstretched, dangling in the air as if about to plunge into the newly formed pool of vodka soda on the bar from the aforementioned sloppily carried drinks…yes; the bartender snatched it.
It wasn’t particularly aggressive, nor was it altogether intentional. Yet, at the same time it might’ve been, and it sort of was.
In his slightly drunken state (the bartender, not the guy), he cleverly glanced right, to the regular. It was calculated. A move that the bartender had used before. One that lets the conflict-making non-regular know that the people indirectly involved in this simply due to the fates of being nearby, were on his side, not theirs. All the regular had to do was return the ‘is this guy for real?!’ look. The message obviously falls apart if the regular doesn’t agree with the bartender.
The regular was staring at the ceiling.
Maybe he hadn’t heard what was happening.
“Mate, sorry, but nobody snatched your money.”
A false apology. Saying sorry, then denying the existence of anything to apologise for. A veteran move. One learned through many years in hospitality; don’t give in, win the secret guilty pleasure ‘argument with customers’ by basically saying ‘you’re wrong’, while also gaining the crucial alibi: ‘I apologised to him’.
He had regulars not paying attention that could attest to that.
That was the end of it. The bartender’s barrier in effect. He turned, walked away a few steps and turned back; using the bar itself as the boundary. Clean slate, situation over, annoying customer distanced and new, fun customers to serve.
The blond was back, calling the bartender over. A quick look around told him that THAT bartender was at the other end of the bar now. Smile back on, slight skip in the step, the bartender practically danced over to her.
She wanted some paper towel.
Apparently someone had spilled vodka soda on the bar.