“No, actually, I just do this. I’m still with the same guy since high school. No kids, though.”
She looked somewhat confused.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get married soon and kids will come. Are you still in school?”
“No, I’m not in school.”
She looked at me like she was thinking, and it seemed she was about to ask me something else, but then she changed her mind.
“Do you have an ashtray?” Ms. Tired asked all sluggish.
I gave her one and then I looked at them like “anything else”?
One of my regulars, Lisa, was at the end of the bar dancing by herself next to jukebox wearing her Miss Piggy blond wig. She was older, about fifty-five, in shape and was good for trying to hook up with young guys. Another regular named Stacey was at the opposite end of the bar running game. She brought a different man into the bar every weekend. She would get them nice and drunk and be all up in their pockets. She would wink at me and make her latest victim tip me well. When you don’t drink you get to see everything. I could sit behind the bar and observe all the action. Men like drinks that are going to take them there immediately, woman want to get their buzz one sip at a time. Woman get extra giggly when they’ve been drinking. They will come in classy and cute and leave sloppily drunk.
I still do feel hypocritical at times, because even though I don’t drink I still pour the drinks. But it pays the bills—so what the fuck? Just as I turned the channel on the television, a couple walked up to the counter. The woman had big auburn braids going up into a crown, forming a bush at the end. She looked like she should be in a music video waving incense and holding candles. Her guy was the opposite: tall, baldheaded, and mean. Opposites must attract.
“Can I get a shot of Patrón?” a man said. If I didn’t know the customer I would always ask the woman what she wanted first and would make sure to place the drinks in front of her. I learned early, a sure way not to get tipped is by flirting with somebody’s man, but he ordered first. I started making his drink and then asked his lady, “What are you having?”
She looked me up and down and said, “Give me a minute.”
“Kendra, can you make me a Crimson Tide, a Hurricane, a Sex on the Beach, and a Long Island Iced Tea?” Tia asked as she tried to organize all her loose dollars in her black apron.
“A Crimson Tide. I never heard of that. I’ll have to look that up. And, Tia, you gonna have to ring your drinks up. I don’t want to hear Julius’s mouth.” I said I wasn’t getting yelled at for her.
She walked over to the computer and began typing in her drinks.
“It’s not enough liquor in this daiquiri,” a woman yelled from the other end of the bar. I told her I would be right there. I poured the man his shot and asked his lady if she was ready yet. She shook her head no. I went to the end of the bar, dumped the daiquiri, and made a fresh one. I don’t know why it took her half the drink to realize that there wasn’t enough alcohol.
“And, baby, can you make it a little sweeter?” she asked as she winked at me.
I added more strawberries and cherry grenadine mix, doubled the alcohol, reblended it, and poured it in her glass. She sipped it once again and gave me the thumbs-up. Everybody was waited on, so I decided to start cleaning up for the evening. My manager, Julius, came out from the back to see how we were making out for the night. He pulled up his droopy pants and scratched his balding brown dome. The couple left and I started washing the dishes by dipping the glasses in the blue disinfectant. The trio of women flagged me over to them again.
“Another round please, girl? These drinks are good. Keep them coming,” she said. They were laughing and joking, and being very loud. Then one turned to me and said, “Kendra remember you was voted most likely to succeed?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“So Kendra, what happened?” asked Belinda, the ponytail-wearing woman asked a little perplexed.
“What happened to what?” I asked with an attitude.
“You know, like with your life. You are supposed to be famous. What are you doing bartending? You suppose to be somewhere singing, being rich by now. You was like going to be like the next Mariah Carey.”
Her friend stood up and tried to shhh her. “She is drunk. Don’t mind her. Damn, two drinks and you trippin’. Shut up, Belinda,” Inez said. I acted like I didn’t hear what she said and ignored her.
“No, this shit ain’t funny,” the woman slurred.
“You drunk. Shut up, dumbass,” Inez said to her friend.
“You shut up, Inez. I’m not drunk. I know what I’m talking about. I know how much I had to drink,” she said as she stopped talking to her and turned her attention back to me.
“Kendra, I am so sad and sorry to see you here. I mean I can’t believe you wasted your voice and all your talent. Like, you was a real good singer, Kendra. I remember you singing at school. You used to sound like Mariah Carey. Like an angel for real. What happened, for real? I’m not being funny. I mean, this is all you did with your life?” she asked again. This time I couldn’t even act like I didn’t understand or hear what she was talking about.
“Let’s go. Your ass is drunk,” Inez screamed at her friend as she pulled her away from the bar. The tired girl just shook her head, like she was thinking the same thing.
“Inez, get off of me. Why are you fronting when you just said the same thing when she walked away? I did not. Let’s go!”
“I’m not done yet.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I didn’t! Get your stuff,” She said as she looked to me to see if I believe she was talking about me too!
They went back and forth among each other as I walked away to the other end of the bar. I could still hear them talking their voices were traveling across the bar.
“Tell your girl to shut up,” Inez told the tired one. “Carry your girlfriend out. She always ruining shit.”
“I told you to leave her home.” Inez helped pull the tall drunk girl out the bar door. As soon as they left I went and removed their glasses.
They tipped me twenty dollars. Any other night I would have been glad someone was being generous, but tonight it felt like they pitied me and thought I needed the extra cash. Fuck them, I thought. I was called away again by There’s-Not-Enough-Liquor-in-My-Daiquiri. She had found some old granddaddy to sponsor her and her friend’s drinks. The old man peeled money out of his wallet, one twenty at a time, and they began ordering.
The rest of the evening was okay. Finally the last customer walked out of the restaurant. I locked the door and counted my register, then my tips. I had made one-fifty for the night—that wasn’t bad. I wiped down the counter and turned off the television. I mopped the floor and put each stool on top of the counter. I said goodbye to Julius and the other waitresses. The entire way home I kept thinking about the comment from that girl from high school at every red light. It kept echoing in my head. I don’t even remember her name and probably won’t see her again, but she just don’t know she fucked up my whole night. I thought I had my life together, but not like theirs. Damn, they the same age as me. They only twenty-five. How do they have their shit together already? How are they so on point? God damn. Especially Ms. Two-Kids-Great-Husband-and-Big-House. I bet that other one can get any man she wants, and she is a nurse. I bet she has a big house or condo and just is living the life too! How did my life get so fucked up? How did I end up in this dead-end-ass job? And how did she remember my dreams when I’d forgotten them? I’ve always