A while back, on a late weekday evening, an uncommon but highly interesting interaction unfolded. It was about 2:00am – so most of the 9 to 5 revellers had long cleared out. There were maybe 8 or 9 customers left at the bar quietly engaged in conversation. There was a pair of cute girls – both maybe around 30 years old. One was White and one was Latina. Both were impeccably dressed, engaging, funny and had been tipping well. They weren’t obscenely intoxicated, just happily buzzed.
The early evening shift bartender had cleared out and it was just me and my barback “T” on the closing end – awaiting 4:00 a.m. T was clearing the bus bins near the girls when they started chatting him up. Watching from a distance, tending to another customer, I noticed some very strange looks coming from their direction.
A minute later, T wanders my way giggling himself silly. He reports to me: “Yo, those girls are crazy. They asked me to take my shirt off!” I looked at him completely baffled and . “What was your response?” I gasped. T says “I told them ‘Hell no!’” I shook my head, put my fatherly hand on his shoulder and relayed my huge disappointment in his youthful inexperience.