The man at the next table shouts “Bartenderess!” because it’s faster than shouting “I’m pretentious, a little drunk, and on a lunch date!”

The bartenderess arrives, and he orders two shots of tequila. He calls for a very specific brand, and asks that she bring everything to the table unprepared, so he can assemble the whole ritual himself, just the way he likes it.

The bartenderess nods and leaves, and the man at the next table goes back to trying to give his date the impression that he knows a lot about “film.”

The bartenderess is also my waitress. I make a note to tip her surprisingly well.

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