Pop quiz, hot shot!

There are a couple pubs near my house. I’ve been known to walk into them once or twice. I may or may not know some of the bartenders/waitresses. They may or may not know me by name and/or drink of choice.

I like to think it’s because I’m memorable not because of my rate of attendance. It might be both.

Friday night, I left the salsa club and decided to stop in for a drink at one of the pubs. I was cutting it close, I knew they wouldn’t serve me past 1am and it was 12:55. I convinced myself that it was okay. The last time I was this close, I knew the bartender and he served me, albeit reluctantly, because “Oh. It’s you…”. If it was anyone else, he probably would have told them to screw off. But he didn’t; he served me. The other patrons found it amusing.

So anyway, I walked in the place Friday night and didn’t see a familiar face behind the bar. Shit. I thought for sure that I wasn’t going to get served. Once I got her attention, I politely asked if I’d missed last call; she checked the clock and said “You got two minutes!”.  Success!

Two days later, I walked into place and once again didn’t see a familiar face behind the bar.

He was a new guy… apparently this was his second shift. I guess that happens. Shortly after my arrival, my favourite bartender, Mikey, came in.

This bartender is the best. First of all, he’s cute as a button.  Seriously, I could just put him in my pocket and carry him around all day. But also, he’s just a really nice guy. A real genuine sweetheart.

One night, I started asking him questions to get to know him a bit. I don’t know why. I don’t normally do this; I’m usually perfectly satisfied with not knowing much about my bartenders, even though they know me. For some reason, that wasn’t good enough with this one. I asked him how long he’d worked there and if he had any other bartending jobs before this place. He told me that he worked at this other bar a-ways-out in CloverHole.

It’s the same bar that The Beanstalk worked at. Small world. I asked him if he knew Jack and explained how I knew him. Since I know Jack from Thailand’s bar, I haven’t seen him for awhile (and probably won’t for even longer), so I asked Mikey to say hi for me.

The next time I came in, I asked him if he’d seen Jack. He hadn’t. I wanted to make sure that he had the story straight (it’s not like Jack and I are such good friends that he would know exactly who Mikey was talking about if he gave my name). In order to make sure he had the story straight, I asked him three questions.

1. What’s my name?
2. Where do I know Jack from?
3. What kind of dancing do I do?

If he had those pieces of information, Jack should know who I am.

Mikey got some of the questions wrong. Not acceptable. The next time I went in, I asked him another three questions.

1. Who do we both know?
2. What kind of dancing do I do?
3. What’s my drink of choice?

Again, he got some wrong, so the next time I went in, I had to ask another three questions.

I didn’t realize what I had started. Problem is, after while, he started ace-ing the quiz; I had to get creative. Now, months after the fact, he has since stopped working with Jack, but I still keep on. 

The first time I got creative, I asked him what his favourite colour is. He was shocked.

But he played along. Even when I asked him if he was old enough to drink in the States, he just laughed and said “I see what you did there! And yes I am!!” (He’s a baby face… no wonder I’ve got a soft spot for him). I appreciated it, even though I had a nagging thought…

But I keep on keeping on. But still… I often wonder what he thinks about quiz time.

This last time I was there (yes, it was a Sunday night), I informed him it was quiz time, he said he needed “three minutes”, he was training the new guy. It took much longer than three minutes. While I sat there trying to come up with my three questions, I couldn’t help but think he was delaying it because he hates it. I became self-conscious.

He came up to me and apologized for it taking so long. Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. I asked him two questions. My third question was (taking a page from the book of JY):

TWG: On a scale of 1.5 to 7.3, how much do you hate quiz time?

M: On a scale of 1.5 to 7.3?!??!? *incredulous*

TWG: Yes. *not incredulous* 1.5 being that you love quiz time and look forward to it; 7.3 being that you hate quiz time and shudder when you see me walk in the door.

M: Oh… *laughs* Well… 1.5 of course!

I figured he was humoring me, but when I was leaving, I told him “good to see you again, see ya next time”.

I won’t. Aw shucks…