Writing Prompt #4

Writing Prompt #4

‘Bartender.’

To be frank, the only reason I was here was because the pay was good.

Almost too good, for such an easy job in my opinion. All I had to do was serve drinks - that were in labelled bottles, mind you - and to know when a person was red-faced enough to cut them off.

I didn’t even have to deal with the drunkards that often, they rarely came over to this particular establishment.

I guess I was just lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time. A poster on a lamp post, a chilly Wednesday morning, and a wallet that was only getting emptier. Then it was just a hop, skip and a twirl away to the club.

Well, they say club. It looks more like a cafe to me. Admittedly, most cafes don’t sell alcohol, but most clubs were loud and rowdy and wholly annoying.

Whoever designed this club had comfort in their mind; with large and lush armchairs, warm and rustic colours, and low-hanging dim lanterns. The atmosphere was almost always cozy - except of course for the times someone got too rowdy with the bottles.

There I was, minding my own business. Cleaning the glasses with a rag and nodding my head along to the tunes that floated out of the speakers.

Then she walked in.

I won’t be cliche. I won’t say that heads turned when she walked through the door. I won’t say that the speakers stuttered to a stop thanks to some magically timed malfunction. I won’t say her presence was magnetic, and that she’d be forever imprinted in the minds of the other people in the cafe.

Mostly because all that didn’t happen. Also because I’m not one for cliches.

But then she walked over to my counter. 

Ordered a drink.

Took out her phone.

I mean, all normal things, right? I thought so too. I paid her no mind.

I served her drink, talked about how it looked like it was going to rain, then went back to work.

Eventually, she finished her drink, left her pay - along with a tip that I appreciated - on the counter,  and walked out.

And that was it.

She didn’t even leave her number on the counter, so I filed that memory as insignificant and continued on with my life.

That was it.

It was, honest.

Though, while we’re on the subject of honesty-

I lied, she did leave her number on the counter.

Though, I’d dealt with lots of these before. I wasn’t exactly unattractive, if you’d catch my drift.

Most of the time, I’d ignore them. Throw them in the recycling, never look back.

This time though, I thought, what’s the worst that could happen?

Oh boy.