It’s the post-holiday slowdown at the bar which is a great time to catch up with some of the regulars that I haven’t seen for a while. As I was greeting a couple of said regulars and asking them what they would like to relax with after a not so busy shift, I was interrupted by a voice off to the side yelling “Caribou!” I cringed a little inside and looked that way, sure enough, it was a tweaker. You see, for some reason, people that come into the bar all methed out like to order drinks with over proofed rum in them, like a Caribou Lou, even though they have no intention of actually drinking them (or tipping on them). At any rate I had other customers to attend to that had been waiting on me before she came in, so I finished my orders and was about to get to her and cut her off for being rude, and high, and gross but my co-worker beat me to the punch. She simply carded the spun out individual, whom did not have an I.D. on her and refused her service. Simple, that was that, end of story, or so one might think. Nope Tweakerella comes back into the bar and proceeds to inform us that she used to be a bartender and it was rude of us not to check her I.D. right away because she just wasted her time standing around waiting to be denied service. Yup, sorry, there’s two minutes of your life you’ll never see again, I’m sure you could have used that time to do something important like write a book, solve world hunger or, more than likely, find some more meth.

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