King Douche

Okay, so last night I had a great night at work. It was mostly locals in the bar and it was nice to get to catch up with some people that I hadn’t gotten to have a real conversation with lately. These are my favorite kind of nights for sure. However there always has to be a turd in the punch bowl on even the best of shifts, last night was no exception. There were two guys that came in and of course, one of them was the babysitter and the other was the spoiled rotten little baby. The baby had to hit on every girl in the bar, try to by some friends with drinks and even resorted to putting on his sunglasses to try to look cool, which is hard to do in a cheesy red and pink polo, short khaki shorts and running shoes that looked like they have never seen a workout. After Mr. Douche finally left because I wouldn’t serve his staggering slurring ass, someone came up to the bar with a pair of sunglasses. They said “Hey, that drunk guy in pink left these outside.” I thanked them for not breaking them, or stealing them and went to put them on the back bar in case he came back, when I noticed something that I found amusing. They were Prada sunglasses, solidifying the complete belief that the guy, was indeed, douche bag royalty, if not their king.

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