The rockabilly blared in the pool hall. There were the sounds of conversation, the clacking of the cue and stripes or solids, the clinging of glasses and life in general. Here the pros tried to hone their skills, the lonely tried to make themselves less so, the drinkers tried to forget and the community gathered in sweet communion.
The bartender Randi exuded sex and sexuality. In her late 30's, a single mom struggling to make ends meet but happy where she was, and looks that were made for extracting tips from guys. Her blonde-ish hair in a simple ponytail tonight, she had prepared for business. She wore her extremely tight black tank top and cutoff shorts that accentuated her legs. Tonight it was about listening, communion and revelry. In a lot of ways she had the absolute best job. She never worked a day in her life.
Work was great. She spent a lot of time with her customers. She loved listening to the stories, experiencing her different dynamics and being the catalyst to ease the pain for those who needed it. There was one man who stood out. A bearded redheaded man who seemed really sweet. She liked the gray in his beard and blue eyes.
This man had the absolute worst luck though. He bought a drink for every solo lady at the bar. His attempts at talking with them were okay, but they just didn't click. He was appropriate, respectful and funny. It's just more complicated than that sometimes. It does not always equal success.
As the clock dwindled down, more patrons scampered. She arranged rides and Ubers and one by one they went out to the places they would be from, to paraphrase Semisonic. It was just her left and the patron, who she learned was named Justin.
"Last call, hun," she offered.
"Thank you, love." The honorifics flowed freely with them tonight.
Looking at his bottomless drink, she offered, "Why don't I get you a water?"
"Yes, and may I buy a water for my favorite bartender?" He chuckled as she responded with a giggle.
