“You’re a hard worker. Are you sure you haven’t waited tables before? You act like you have done it all your life.” In the background, the Juke Box plays AC/DC “Back in Black”.
“Nope, this is a first for me. I’ve entertained at my house, so I know how to make people relax and feel comfy, but I’ve never been a waitress.” I look at him and can almost see the wheels turn in his head. His expression is thoughtful and questioning. His right eye is twitching a bit.
“What’s your story?” He walks around the bar and sits at one of the empty stools. Just as I begin to answer him, the cowbell rings.
“That bell is for me,” I say. “Can you pour me another round?”
I walk toward the kitchen and he heads for the taps. By the time I come out with the wings, onion rings, fries and condiments, he has already delivered the drinks.
“I’m not sharing my tip with you,” I tease.
“That’s all right, I make a decent living on my own. So tell me, what’s your story?”
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