Somewhere, someone is trying to work “I don’t see gender” into a conversation.
I’m drinking a coke and one of my customers said “Oh, I’m a coke man too.” Like we’re a rare breed, people who occasionally drink a beverage. I’m about to have some orange juice. Maybe he’s an OJ guy too.
It’s not enough to aspire to be the World’s Oldest Living Person anymore. I want to be the World’s Oldest Dead Person. It’s one thing to break a record, but it’s another thing to keep it.
I want to become the kind of bartender where cops show me a picture of someone and I can be like, “Yeah, he was in here couple-a weeks ago. Seemed real on edge. Paid for his drink and left in a hurry. I hasn’t seen ‘em since. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta sign for this.” I’ll say that last part when a guy delivering kegs comes in the front door for some reason when the bar is already open. The detectives will follow that lead for a while, but he ultimately won’t be the guy they were looking for.
I’ve been called weird before, but tell me, would a weird person cackle for a solid minute in a restaurant’s walk-in about “Celery Clinton”???