Saturday night, 2:30 a.m. Slow night and I’m leaning on the bar, contemplating the possibility of subsistence living on Kepler 22b, the probability of finding some form of hot chick there, the dream of living Bloomberg-free – throwing my guns in the air, and the moral turpitude of ditching my family for this brave new extraterrestrial world…
Skinny-ass little punk rolls right up to me and the following stupidity ensues:
[Me] Hi there! What can I get you?
[Kid] Gimme a Coke and Rum
[Me] You mean a Rum and Coke?
[Kid] No. I wanna a Coke and Rum
[Me] No, you want a Rum and Coke.
[Kid] No. I wanna Coke and Rum.
[Me][Following 15 seconds of blank staring] Can I see your id please?
[Kid][Does a mouth snap/tisk, pats down all his pockets in an apparent act of looking for his wallet] I forgot it. Thanks anyway.
[Me][Back to Wanderlust. Mental note to blog]