George’s official title was a barista, but he felt like that was just a fancy way to say bartender. Unlike what the first title implies, the last time he cared about foam art was when he accidentally left the tap running a bit too long and had to clean up the beer before it could make the floor too sticky. He also couldn’t remember the last time he served a non-alcoholic drink other than water (at his own request rather than the customer’s), but as long as he was getting paid, he couldn’t really complain.
Regardless of the fact that The Viper Room was out of the way from Springfest, that didn’t mean it wasn’t getting the crowd. Apparently, getting drunk was the best way to end a day of sober festivities, meaning the bar was more crowded than he’d ever witnessed it. The business was keeping him on his toes, covered in miscellaneous alcohols, and sorting stacks of cash from paid off tabs, but the tips were worth it. They were also worth every as-genuine-as-possible smile he offered to whoever called him over, and this time was no exception.
George placed the money back in the register and turned in the direction of the person calling him over, an unfamiliar face to him at the very least. Walking over in front of the new customer, he managed the same smile that was starting to make his cheeks hurt slightly as he placed his hands flat against the edge of the bar and tilted his head to the side. “Hey there, what can I get you?”
