Making Friends Everywhere: Hipster Chick Bartender.

So on Saturday I met friends for drinks at this one bar, and then we took a cab to the hipster part of town to meet friends of my friends, and this bar we went to was one of the most miserable ones I've ever seen. It was that disgusting hipsterish combination of affluence and attitude, with plush boots and high ceilings and a back room with a pole for dancing, and the hipster chick bartender was just plain rude, and had no hustle. When I got to a bar or a restaurant, I don't expect great service -- like I tell people who go to restaurants and look for good service, if you get off on good service that much, go hire a fucking butler to serve you all day and don't make poor waiters and waitresses be part of some fucking complex of yours that they never asked to be part of -- but, I do expect hustle or at least acknowledgement that they're busy if they're unracking glasses or some bullshit and can't get you your drinks right away, and this hipster chick bartender (normal type, bleached hair and pale tits and a tight black top, and a chain belt) just kind of stood doing nothing behind the counter, and then when we had been waiting way too long, came a few steps over to get our drink order, so it wasn't even bad service and waiting a long time because of that, but rather her making us involuntary witnesses to how much attitude she had, which pissed me the fuck off.

"What do you want?", she was like, and I ordered a hard cider and my two other friends at the bar where we were got beers, and one ordered a hamburger, but was like, "What's the special sauce?"

"A-1 and mayo," the hipster chick bartender was like, and stood there posing bitchily.

"Oh," so I was like, "So when you say 'special sauce'" - and when I said "special", I put air-quotes around it -- "Are you being ironic?

"No," the hipster chick bartender was like, and stood there posing even more bitchily.

Man, was she a piece of work.

The previous night, I had been at an Irish pub with some people, and when they played an early 90s cover of "Please Mr. Postman" from the movie Backbeat, me and my one friend I had taken cha-cha with discovered we could cha-cha to it, albeit really really quickly.