TITLE: Bitter Bar Girl
GENRE: Adult Commercial Fiction
In the beginning when I started this job, I was bubbly and filled with promise, like a spanking new glass of champagne. After all, I was just a naive New Jersey girl with no real street cred.
But flash forward two years to present day and the effervescence has faded. People who bang on the bar, whistle, and snap fingers but don't have their orders ready while a crowd three deep forms en masse to stampede--the complainers, the whiny babies, the ones who grab at me or want the cheapest thing and then tip in change--have turned me sour and every night, as I scrub a layer of sticky booze off my skin, I wonder if I made the right choice when I came to LA.
Look up hole-in-the-wall in the dictionary and you'll find a picture of our bar. Sloppy black paint job on the walls and a faint aroma of B.O. The table tops are always sticky no matter how many times I wipe them but people seem to love the place in spite of its armpit atmosphere.
To distance myself I've developed an alter ego with a thick skin and a string of snappy one-liners. I call her Bitter Bar Girl. She is my first line of protection when alone behind the bar.
In her defense, I must point out that the guy she's about to slam completely deserves it for being a beer snob when the taps clearly demonstrate we only serve swill.