I spilt an entire beer—at least I missed the customer’s lap—messed up two orders, and just plain forgot a third. You’d think I was a pimply-faced, nerdy girl waiting for the most popular guy in high school to pick me up for my first date. Well, in some ways I guess it was just like that. Brax would be here any minute. I slipped into the bathroom to check my hair and lipstick then came back out. Approaching the bar’s last customers, a table of guys in the corner, I did a last call, warning them for a third time that we’d be closing early. They gave me blank stares and went back to their conversation. I rang them up anyway and slapped the bill on their table with a whack to call attention to it, giving them my best don’t-fuck-with-me scowl. One of them dug in his pocket and tossed some bills and change on the table. He smirked at his buddies and mouthed the word bitch. Together, they strutted out the door into the dark, snowy evening. I gave them the finger to their backs and scooped up the cash, took it behind the bar, and counted out the change.
