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Hey Bargirl!

Being a bar waitress at a rowdy pub in a rowdy military town is not an easy thing. Most nights, it’s not even enjoyable. This week, the soldiers were out and I was called, “Baby, Honey, Sweetheart” more times than I wanted to hear. It’s especially annoying when that Sweetheart is followed by “get us a round shots, will ya?”

I know I took the job with the knowledge that I’d have to walk the fine line of being nice for tips and fending off drunkards by cussing them out.

This past weekend, after being dead tired and still smiling. My last table thought it would be funny to draw a penis on my credit card slip. You know, the one that has my tip on it.

I could have laughed it off and chalked it up as “boys being juvenile boys.” But my ankles hurt and my back hurt, I was sleepy and my hands were sticky from handling Jaegar-Bombs all night. They were going to have it.

I went right up to the budding artist and said: “This isn’t cute and it isn’t funny. I’ve been waiting on you all night by getting you drinking, cleaning up after you, and being cheerful about it. The LEAST you could do is be more  respectful than this.”

It was quiet when I walked off.

When my manager found out, he also went over there and berated the boys. It was nice of him to do, to support the wait ...

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