A friend of mine and I had been hitting the bars in Arlington late one night and we found ourselves at a place called Witlows. The best way to describe it would be, halfway between a restaurant and a dive bar but with the decor of a 1950s diner.
We both grabbed some drinks and scanned the area. I fixed my gaze on a petite cute blond sitting alone at a table. She looked like she’d drunk maybe a little more than she was used to and was genuinely bored. I nodded at my buddy and went in.
“You look like you’re having fun, may I join you?” I said not waiting for an answer as I pulled a chair out and sat down. We exchange the simple puppy dog and ice cream conversation and we get to talking about our careers.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked lifting my jack and coke to my lips.
“I’m a baker.” She said very softly, seemingly bored with me and our conversation already.
“Like a real baker- with the cool hat and everything?” I asked having genuinely never met someone who was employed full time to bake things.
“What? No?” She mumbled looking around as if the other imaginary people at the table would strike up a more interesting conversation.
“So, do you make cookies and cup cakes for nice boys?” I asked trying to get off the topic of her work uniform.
“Sometimes I guess.” She said awkwardly.
“Well that’s good,” I exclaimed trying to elicit some energy from the cute boring girl.
I’ve overcame worse and I was determined to win this girl over. Worst case scenario, I was there to get a phone number.
I hesitated for a moment.
“Um, is a bakers dozen really 13 or is it off by one because most bakers can’t count?” I said in a playful manner as I cracked a smile.
She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side and said, “What the fuck? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
This girl didn’t want to play ball.
“What about the pans you guys use? Do you guys have the fancy no stick coatings or do you keep in all natural?” I asked, pleasantly surprised that I would have this many good questions for a someone who worked in a bakery
“FUCK OFF ASSHOLE!” She yelled standing up and rejoining her friends on the other side of the bar leaving me alone, puzzled, and frustrated at the table.
I finished my drink and stood up to spot the “mother-bird” of the group making her way over to me with some conviction in her walk. I already knew she’d come to pay me visit for my dialogue with her friend. The mother-bird is almost always the least attractive girl of the group, often sporting longer dark brown hair with glasses. She is easily identified as the fattest and rudest one of the entourage. She appears to be the type to often bring up the idea of a late night fast food run, as it dually cock blocks and feeds her addiction to unhealthy foods. Due to her low self esteem, she will constantly put down anyone who tries to talk to her friends based on the realization that the guys would never give her the time of day… unless it was last call.
“Hey, you’ve got some nerve being that rude to my friend! What’s your problem man?!”
“What? Me? I was nothing but nice to your friend, she claims to be a baker and doesn’t know the first thing about baking.” I announced with no reservations.
Shaking her head, “you are a retard. She’s a BANKER. As in, someone who works with money.”
I paused momentarily to put all the pieces together. I guess those questions were a little out of the ordinary from someone in the financial world. But my question about making cookies and cup cakes for nice boys threw both of us off.
“Well, then she should speak up when she talks to people in a bar.” I said looking at her like she was the asshole.
The mother bird made a crumpled face at me and turned to leave so I zinged her with one last verbal-jab, “ANNNDD… Just because someone is a Wal-Mart greeter, doesn’t mean they work in hospitality. The only people who call themselves bankers are kids during the game of monopoly.”
She turned mid stride to give me yet another shitty momma bird scowl, which isn’t a new look for me, as I raised my glass to her then stepped up to the bar to order another drink.