Michael walks over to me, drying a glass. I don’t answer, instead shooting him a glare.
“As a bartender, one of the best things I've ever learned is when to keep my mouth shut,” he set the glass down, pouring me another bourbon on the rocks.
“Is that so?”
He slides the drink to me with a wink.
“In this case, you comin' in here all the time with all your gals, I'm just gonna say this.” he shakes his head, looking right at me. “Sure, you're attractive and all- but a smile now and then is an inexpensive way to improve your appearance.”
“Yeah? Maybe you should've kept that gem to yourself.”
Such a cliché that a bartender is giving advice to people he barely knows.
“Just because you've watched me with my friends, doesn't mean you know me well enough to say that.”
I chug the bourbon, and this time, I intentionally slam the glass, breaking it into a thousand shards.
“The difference between a drink and your opinion, is that I asked for a drink.”
Because of my outburst, shock and anger move across Michael's face in waves. He lowers his head and sneers.
“You know, for a pretty girl, you're a mean drunk.”
He cleans up my mess, muttering to himself, and shaking his head.
Standing up from my seat, I shout at him.
“As if I could even get drunk.” I begin to walk in a straight line to prove that I’m sober. “See. I can even touch my nose and walk a straight line.”
Grunting, Michael waves a hand at me and places it on the edge of the bar.
“Did something bad happen to you, or are you always this sarcastic?”
Thoughtfully, I shake my head and walk over to get my purse and phone. I turn and walk away, glancing over my shoulder at Michael. I wink at him.
"Sarcastic, you say? I put that shit on everything." I reply.