I.D. Check

I've only been working for Niki for a week having been hired just last Friday before I moved into town. I knew Niki was a man before I had my interview him. I was curious to see what kind of person he would be. No man named after a girl could be considered normal, especially if the man was an owner of a bar. Owning a bar is like being the playground monitor for kindergarten all day. So I wasn't surprised to find Niki short for Nicholas and the man himself a 6'5" baldie who worked out daily. Niki is a tank, with a shiny bald head and nicely trimmed Van Dyke mustache. The girth of his body could've been mistaken for fat until Niki flashed the defined muscles of his biceps.

The interview was short since Niki was simple and straightforward with his expectations. I won him over with a few bartender jokes and sterling recommendations from my previous employers. Working at Niki's is a nice change of pace from Miami, where everything is about image and sub-context. Latin music is replaced with old Americana from the jukebox. Everyone who comes into the bar knows everyone else. The world is a lot smaller in Niki's than Miami. For now, smaller is better.

I've gotten down the routines of alcohol serving. There are three options for drinks at Niki's: bottled, on tap, or soda (which is also on tap). The drinks go from beers to hard liquor shots, skipping anything fruity or involving an umbrella. Niki gave me permission to stare down anyone who orders fancy drinks since the regulars are mostly college kids and they shouldn't be drinking cosmopolitans until their thirties. Though I'm old enough to be a college graduate, there are still plenty of boys willing to impress me by buying me a drink. By their generosity I'm put in a sticky situation. You never want to be known as the bartender that turns down drinks because you never get tips that way. On the other hand, being stupid drunk on the job is a fast way of getting fired – so I compromise. I accept only shots and use an empty beer bottle as a "chaser". Oh, the slyness of me! The boys get to inflate their egos and I reap the benefits by raking in the dough.

The night is turning out to be a good one. A lot of college kids are out tonight with the word on the street that Niki's is the place to be. I'm taking the orders for a bunch of varsity boys when he comes in. Happy thoughts are out of my mind the moment I see Mr. Hummer and his sidekick Baby Blue Eyes. My jaw clenches, teeth grind and somewhere far off a volcano explodes. Asshol- No, I need to restrain my violent urges. There's too much liquor around me to give a plausible excuse to the cops of why I went on a bloody rampage. I just hope the turd doesn't walk over here.

Oh, hello! Why thank you God for hearing my prayer and answering it by having Mr. Hummer come to the bar. Please, have a good laugh at my expense. I'm going to pretend that you didn't try to run me over a few hours ago and politely take your order, Mr. Hummer. At least Baby Blue Eyes has enough sense to conveniently remove himself from the bar area after he sees my glacier smile. He wanders over to the foosball table where two older guys are battling it out.

Mr. Hummer isn't as quick on the uptake and slides between two jersey guys to order a round of beers. By the instant reaction of the varsity group to the new presence, it seems that I'm not the only one that Mr. Hummer has pissed off. The level of testosterone rises and one of the guys wearing a blue jersey makes a snarky comment to Mr. Hummer about waiting his turn. Unperturbed with the fact he is unwelcome and outnumbered, Mr. Hummer picks up the verbal gauntlet and returns it with one of his own. As much as I would enjoy standing back and letting the two have at it, Niki has a strict policy on fights in his bar. I doubt he would sympathize with my reasoning seeing the little blonde punk get a black eye was worth damaged property.

I act like the seasoned bartender I am. As a veteran of many bar fights and tussles, I know from experience the quickest way to ends a fight before it begins: quick service, flirtatious smile and—occasionally—a flash of cleavage. I quickly serve the varsity group their order of drinks. I set down the glass bottles loudly on the counter to disrupt the flow of bickering and smile at the two startled glances I receive from my actions. As sweet as pie I remind the two that Niki dislikes loud arguments in his bar. The instigator, a cute guy with semi-long wavy hair and an over confident smirk, glances over to where I know Niki is looming behind me near the door to the backroom.

He backs off by pointing a finger at Mr. Hummer, "Next time no one is going to save you from a beating, Garwin."

"You know where to find me, Aaron," Mr. Hummer replies with a smile.

Aaron leaves with his friends to stand around the pool table.

With one obstacle avoided I promptly set to overcoming the next one by gathering Mr. Humm—er-Garwin's order of beers. It isn't until I set the beers on the counter that I think to ask Mr. Garwin for his ID card. I look at his face critically; he looks young and has little baby fat left on his face. His skin is clear of blemishes, but I spot a little stubble on his chin he missed while shaving. I mull over the possibility of skipping the age test, however my decision is decided for me once Mr. Garwin misinterprets my look-over and winks at me.

I feel a hot flash of anger directed at boy's over inflated ego. Doesn't he remember a few hours ago that he tried to smash me into the pavement? Apparently not – nearly killing a person doesn't merit recollection for Mr. Garwin. I smile, hiding my thoughts, and lean closer to him, letting him think his attention has made my heart all a-flutter. He falls for the trick and mimics my actions.

I haven't seen you around here before. Did Niki just hire you?" Mr. Garwin smiles, all charm and pretty looks.

"Yeah, I started working here this week."

"I'm Reid Garwin. Nice to meet you."

No way doesn't this asshole remember me! I don't consider myself a vain person, but this slight would affront even Gandhi. Now it's legitimate: revenge against the blonde twit must be exacted.

"Well Mr. Garwin, I will have to see some ID."

I can tell that this isn't the reaction Mr. Garwin was expecting by the blank stare he gives me, his smile a little less certain.

"I'm a regular here, you can ask Niki."

"Now, what kind of bartender would I be if I didn't avidly check a potential costumer's ID when I think he might not be of legal drinking age?"

"A normal one."

"All this way-saying is not improving your position here."

"You know if you want to know more about me, you could just ask."

"And that was your third strike, Mr. Garwin."

I lean back and start removing the beers from the counter. For a moment the blonde's face is still with disbelief, and then he is digging in his pocket for his wallet. He slaps his state ID down on the counter, irritation furrowing his brow and making the corners of his mouth turn down. As I savored the taste of victory, I delicately pickup the ID card and look over the information for a few minutes. I hand him the card and leave my hand-outstretched palm up looking at him expectantly. Mr. Garwin's irritation is marred for a few moments by confusion.

"What?"

"That will be $18.50."

His reaction is the cream that tops my revenge. Once I receive the money, I hand over the beers, which he gathers and he leaves without any further comment. I watch him as he rejoins Baby Blue Eyes and the two guys by the foosball table. They seemed to enjoy the show and start harassing him about it. My mood lifted I return my attention to other waiting customers and put Reid Garwin out of my mind for the rest of the night.