Slugger

“My dicks like the end of a Louisville Slugger,” said the regular patron who has every luxury offered to him by planet earth with the exception of someone to love.

“You know people can hear you, right?” I asked out loud because I actually like this regular. Granted, in my head I was thinking,

“No, no you probably don’t have a large penis at all. Judging on the size of your petite, overly moisturized hands, you probably have a dick that is well groomed, rather thin, and it hasn’t smelt like a vagina in a very long time.”

The regular smiled at me with his recently whitened teeth and his gold pinky ring that glistened under the dim bar lights. He replied,

“ Oh…you know you love me, even if I am short. You know, my dick looks bigger because my legs are so short. That’s called optical illusion. But then again, you wouldn’t care. You get hit on all the time and you don’t have to worry about nobody loving you. You’re smart, well-traveled, and quite gorgeous. You don’t have the hardships of getting rejected by every person that you like. I mean…all I want is somebody to cuddle with that’s semi-attractive and petite.”

My regular often went on rants. And by the term “often”, I mean always. I don’t get paid the same as a therapist, but I often feel like one. I looked into the eyes of my regular and I squinted my brow a bit so that he thought that I was concentrating on what he was saying. I cocked my head to my left a bit because I feel that if I cocked it to my right, then that it would indicate I was confused about what he was saying. And I didn’t want him to feel that I was not one hundred fucking percent sure of my advice that I would undoubtedly give him.

I occasionally, and at the precise moments nod my head in a concerned manor. You can’t nod too much or make too many “uh huh’s” or people will catch on to the fact that you are not listening. I would break eye contact to look down from time to time….but not for too long. Those look-aways have to be brief and precise. But they are important to the whole listening experience because when I looked down and then came back to meet his eyes again—he would secretly but temporarily feel a moment of relief that I was so “involved” in his story that I had to keep coming back for more. And when he felt that I was involved, he kept talking. And when someone finds you comfortable to talk to….they keep coming back for more. And when they keep coming back….I become their BARTENDER and they become my regular. And in my warped, mildly fucked-up, but overly enjoyable world—that’s how I make a living.

It’s not that I don’t give two shits about my regular. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But I hear so many sob stories and first world problems on a daily basis, that if I took them all to heart…I would go fucking ape-shit. I mean, we all have problems. Problems are universal. So while I want to tell my regular, “Look man, life is 10% what happens to you and 90% of what you make it”, I don’t.

Instead, I look at him like I care and like he’s the only person in the room. All the while, in my head, the G-rated version of what I’m thinking is this:

 “I have to make sure my daughter did her homework. I need to finish my own homework in the morning so that I can make it to the MMA gym tomorrow. I wonder when the boy that I like is going to stop intruding on all my thoughts. Why do I always like the boys that don’t like me back? Did I feed the dog this morning? Dammit…I forgot to pay the water bill. Again.”

The R-rated version that included more cussing is this:

“My homework fucking sucks. Speaking of fucking…when’s the last I got fucked? I’m watching the words come out of my Regulars mouth but I’m not listening. All I assume is that you’re talking about life and loneliness and I will just bust out with a quote that will cover all aspects of life and hand you your tab and call it a day. Wait….could you be cute? Could I like you and your short legs and your Burberry scarf? Could I at least fuck you? Hmmmm. Nope. Alright…let me focus on your exact sentence now so that I can choose the perfect time to cut you off and pick a quote to intervene with.”

So even though that’s what your bartender is really thinking…..don’t let it deter you. It’s the same scenario as your doctor looking at your boobs and not telling you that he thinks they are saggy or like your husband telling you that you are beautiful without make-up on when in reality, we are not. I think awful things about you sometimes…but at the end of the day, I just want to make your day better! So I will put on my best bartender face—and not tell you what I’m really thinking.