Some things you argue with, like “no you can’t have another piece of chocolate” or “George Bush was the best president this country has ever had”, but you do not argue with Last Call.
Beautiful words for me, sad words for all others. It means freedom and start mopping for me, but for the people at the bar it means you have to rush along getting the number from the girl you’ve been talking to, finish a pitcher in fifteen minutes, and try to get your group of friends together to leave.
Mostly Last Call is well received, an expected exclamation from the bartender past a certain time; it’s usually called around 12:30 a.m. on good summer nights. But last night, after another night of hardly any tables or people at the bar, the bartender and I decided that last call would be at 11 p.m. Mind you, the bar was empty. But, sure enough at 10:30, around seven people came in from various groups: some older guys, a young woman trying to get drinks bought for her, and a young man entering the marine corps in the morning so he wanted to get his “partying in”. Woo, party on, Tuesday night.
Alas, we still went with the plan to close at 11 p.m. “What?!” they exclaimed at us from the other side of the bar, “Really?! At 11?”
We listened with glazed eyes. You have no idea what goes into a bar shift, you have no idea how often and how long we work, you have no idea how our night has been thus far, and you have no idea that we are students and have more valuable things we could be doing with our time. But yes, the customer is always right.
The marine corps guy, who I thought was pretty nice, modest with his two Lionsheads, mumbled loud enough for us to hear as he left, “I guess I’ll go to B-Dubbs, they’ll still be open.”
Oh man, that stings. Sure the bar is hurting this summer, but I don’t need to explain to any of you how if trumps the business of “B-Dubbs” with school is in session. That would be a waste of space, and his attempted insult was invalid.
Nevertheless, we served the people that came in a couple drinks, then rushed them out of the door with some grumbling and complaining.
“Sorry, last call is last call.”