Insane Bartender Boy

I had met him in a dive bar not far from where I lived. He was my bartender and he was damn good at it. At the time, I was a vodka martini girl. Dirty, of course. It isn’t easy to get a vodka martini ‘just perfect’. But he always did. Sadly, that was what won me over. His ability to pour a hell of a drink.

Had he not been a genius mixologist, I’m not sure I would have ever given him a second look. He was tattooed from head to toe, dressed like he was straight out of the 1950’s and was kicking the James Dean pompadour. Not that that look isn’t sexy. I’m just smart enough to know that Rockabillies are trouble. How so, you ask? Because I almost married one once.

Also, that look is so over (I’m doing my best Portlandia impression right now). I swear to god, if a guy is covered in ink and plays in a band, 9 times out of 10 he will ask me out. And I am neither of these things. In the first impressions department, I actually come off as a bit of a prude. I don’t sport any sort of edgy look, I certainly don’t look like a groupie and my guitar playing skills are… well, fucking awful. Maybe 20 years ago I looked the part but there is none of that in me now. Unless you count all my empty holes and my forever over-processed hair.

Anyways, I guess it was the way he asked me out that also won me over. Most men’s idea of a date is to meet up at the bar, possibly followed by late night beers at their place. Not a horrible way to spend an evening but not exactly a ‘date’ either. My bartender had gone the traditional route. He offered to pick me up for dinner and then to have cocktails at a wine cellar. Seemed old fashioned enough to be romantic. I said yes.

First thing he did was bring me flowers. How cute, you say? No. Not cute. I’m too lazy and awkward to be carting around a bunch of lilies everywhere I go. To me, flowers are something a guy should SEND to you, not give to you. Want to impress me? Try just being polite and classy and holding off on the dead plants until you’ve done something you need to apologize for or are looking to cheer up my bad day. Otherwise, I don’t want them.

Second thing he did was open all my doors. No complaints about that one. I may be a little snarky, I may come off as one of the guys, but deep down I am probably one of the most girly girls you will ever meet. I like pink things and kittens and pedicures and summer dresses and high heels and any sort of cheesy sentiment. And I like my doors opened for me. Take that women’s liberation!

He chose Italian, my second favorite kind of food, and we sat in a corner table and ordered our meals.

And then it happened. What happened, you ask? What usually happens when I go on actual ‘dates’? He opened his mouth and a shocking level of crazy came out. Maybe not ‘alien jesus’ crazy. But crazy enough for me to regret not meeting him in a bar… the one place where making a quick exit is the easiest.

Bartender Boy (BB): Have you ever heard of the Masons?

Me: Who hasn’t?
BB: Well, I’ve been doing some research and I’ve discovered some secret Mason documents.
Me: All Masonic documents are secret.
BB: Yes. But these are plans to take over the world.
Me: Are you serious or are you messing with me?
BB: I’m very serious. I’ve also discovered that they have secret meetings.
Me: Of course they do!! It’s a private organization for fuck’s sake!
BB: Yes but why all the hush-hush meetings and why all the hidden books and pamphlets?
Me: Please stop. My dad is a Mason. They aren’t trying to take over the world. And the secrets are only about how to be an individual with good character. There are no plans for world domination.
BB: Your dad is a Mason?
Me: I didn’t stutter did I? Look, I grew up with the Masons. I spend half my childhood in Masonic lodges. It’s just a bunch of old men getting together to network and to bring a little meaning into their lives. Hell, most of the secret meetings are about organizing charity events. It’s not evil-take-over-the-world shit. I promise.
BB: How do you know they haven’t brainwashed you? That’s what they do, you know. They enter your dreams and change the way you think.
Me: Wow. I get you might be a little crazy, so I am trying hard not to get mad at you, but you’re talking about my family right now. My father is a 3^rd degree Mason and belongs to the Knights Templar. So your paranoid delusions are hitting close to home. You should really research things before you start spewing History Channel conspiracy bullshit at people and calling my dad a god damn dreamwalker.
BB: Knights Templar? Like the medieval knights?
Me: No. Like Freemasonry, you fucking idiot. It's the 21st century. There are no more knights! 
BB: Don’t they have the hidden holy grail?!
Me: No! What the fuck is wrong with you? There is no such thing as a fucking holy grail either. Jesus.
BB: Oh my god. I am so fascinated by your family. I really want to pick your brain. I could talk to you for hours.
Me: I want you to take me home.
BB: No! I want you to see these documents. Will you come back to my place?
Me: Fuck no. In fact, I’ll take a cab home.
BB: Did they ever abuse you?
Me: If you open your mouth at me one more time, I swear to god I will shove my fist down your throat and rip out your insides.
BB: They really got into your head, didn’t they?

It was at this point I left the restaurant. I even left my jacket there. I didn’t have time to hail a cab and I certainly did not want to wait outside and risk seeing him again. Instead, I headed over to the Mexican Cantina next door and got sloppy drunk on margaritas. And when the bartender at that place started leaning in close and asking me questions, I politely told him to go fuck himself. I may make poor choices in the men I date, but I never make the same mistake twice.

Bartender Boy was also the last Rockabilly I ever said yes to. Let that be a lesson to all of you.