This post is written in conjunction with the 30 Days of Writing, a blog challenge devised by Nicky and Mike at “We Work For Cheese.” I’ll be participating throughout the month of June. If interested, you can see my post with the details of the challenge.
Please note that some of these posts will be serious, some will be normal, and some will be an attempt at humor. This one is on the fun side.
Ahh, this six-plus-minute song really brings back memories.
This song wasn’t just mine. No, it was the song of a whole place. Back in the day, while still in my early 20s, this song was one we used to hear at our local watering hole. Several of us would request it nightly and we’d enjoy the tune.
Once a night.
The song would start with the nice guitar riff and we’d be swallowing down a couple of cold ones as the music picked up and half the bar sang along.
Bittersweet played at different times of the night, but not usually until the handful of us who really got into the song were there.
Ahhh, the crazy life of a 20-something just enjoying life, a few beers and some good friends.
The one bartender always played it for us. He knew we’d up our tips with that song. We’d buy a pitcher or two and have a good time. No problem.
It’s only six or so minutes, so why not?
Keep the customers happy, right.
But not all bartenders think the same, you see. There was one bartender in there who was as moody as they come. Many called her a bitch. I liked her. I never had problems with her. I also didn’t do the things that irritated her — slam a glass on the bar when I was ready for a refill or call her “bartender” or something like that.
Alas, as I said, she was a bit moody at times.
It was a Tuesday or Wednesday night when the regular “crew” came in and ordered up some beers.
We requested “Bittersweet.”
“I’m sick of that song and not playing it anymore.”
We were flabbergasted. So we had a few drinks, played some fooseball and went back to the bar.
The song was requested once again.
At this point, she now started to get peeved. No was the continual answer. If I remember right, there were four or five of us that night. And no was an answer we wanted to hear.
That song must be played.
We took up a collection of $5 per person. A few others at the bar chucked in a couple of bucks. When all said and done, there was — give or take — $30 on the bar as an offer to pay her to play this song.
One hell of a tip, I’d say. I don’t think she’d have made that much on a slow night like that anyway.
Still a no.
A few minutes later, the other bartender came in. We told him of the issue, he accepted the tip and played the song.
Let’s just say the other bartender was flipping mad.
We never asked her to play the song for us again. I’m pretty sure our tips showed it, too.
On the flip side, the other bartender continued to play us the song. Eventually, the song played its course in the bar and faded away, rarely getting a play.
But for a while, it was “our song” for a group of us.
Every time I hear that song now, I think of those times and remember the fun we used to have back in the days.
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