…a few months ago when I was in there:
A(n older) (mustachioed) (white) guy and a (younger)
(white) woman who talk loudly and are all over each other like her occasionally sitting in his lap and whatnot, and she jokes about
him being her sugar daddy, and she takes photos of them together and when she
says something about Snapchat he wants to know who she writes to, and it’s like
their third date, and he says that on their second date he came to her house to
pick her up and her dog came out and it almost bit through his jeans when he
was getting out of the car and if he was still a state trooper he would have shot it,
and somehow she also has a young daughter, and they’re trying to decide where
to go next for food but what’s open, and the (younger) (white) (frizzy-haired)
bartender with the (pussy hat protestor) vibes blankly but not unkindly recommends some (Japanese)
restaurant a bit away, and he asks if they have good hot-and-sour soup and egg
rolls, and eventually they leave, after sucking all of the air out of the room of an otherwise-quiet brewery for a period of over forty-five minutes, where you were just forced to look at them, constantly.
(. . .)
“What the f*ck was that,” I say, like twenty seconds after they walk out the door.
“Oh my G*d I am so glad that I was not the only one thinking that,” says the (younger) (white) (frizzy-haired) bartender with the (pussy hat protestor) vibes. “Did you hear where he said he would have shot her dog, and he wanted to see her Snapchats? So many red flags!”
“And she has a daughter,” I was like. “I’m sorry, but that kid is going to be so f*cked up when she grows up, I feel sorry for her.”
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