Neighborhood bartender was pissy.

The other Thursday I got back to my neighborhood around 1:30am (bars close at 2am in the city) and I popped into a hipster bar for a nightcap only to discover that last call had already been called – “Sorry,” the guy at the door was like – so I went a few blocks to another bar, getting there by like 1:35am, which is plenty of time even with bartime to slide in before last call and get one more drink.

The bar was pretty full, and as I walked to the bar, this (mid-40s) (white) (balding) (pig-eyed)  bartender who’s served me a few times was like, “Hey, it’s been last call,” so I took out my cell phone and looked at the time, and it was only 1:33am.

“It’s like 1:33am,” I was like, quizzically.  “What time do you call last call here?”

“It’s last call whenever I say it is,” he was like.