So, a Poorly Dressed Man Walks into a Bar || Piper and the Plaid Disaster
Piper had probably only been on her feet for around two hours tonight, but it was already starting to feel more like twelve. The job was physically d r a i n i n g. The patrons kept her moving almost the whole time, snapping their fingers at her rudely when she took too long to attend to them, like she was a disobedient dog. Or what was worse, they’d act like animals, their pupils practically slits as they tracked her like a predator might track it’s prey.
She could handle the snapping and the aching feet and even the tiny skirt they forced her into that somehow helped her move more drinks, despite it barely covering anything. But being watched, being tracked like an animal was the worst part. She felt small and powerless. Less than human. An object for them to claim and the very thought made her stomach churn uncomfortably.
Of course it’d been flattering at first. Usually it would start out as just a couple of glances here and there and she’d give them a little wave if they were cute. But usually as the night progressed, their stares got longer and their eyes got more glossed over as they wobbled on their bar stools. Their intentions became clearer as alcohol cleared away inhibitions or any sense of human decency and she became an object or conquest to them.
At this point, she either got one of her LARGER, male coworkers to toss them out or waited until it was last call and they had to leave.
And usually one or the other worked, except in rare occasions. Like when her paranoid mind turned older men who called her a “pretty little thing” into men who were planning on stuffing her into the back of a truck when she left for the night so they could have their way with her. Often times, her overactive imagination’s invented threats were much less apparent to her coworkers or boss and they saw no reason to toss them out.
Tonight was one of those nights. A blonde man, not much older than she was, had been making eyes at her all night and making a show of staring at her legs as she stepped out from behind the bar to deliver drinks to some of the other tables. Her gut was already telling her that this man was not good news and given that he was already downing a third shot, she was certain he was going to be giving her trouble. But no one else seemed to see it and she was told to get back to work and stop worrying about.
So, she did as she was told.
Piper wiped down one of the shakers as she started fixing a Amaretto Sour, dumping in a scoopful of ice with a satisfying clink against the metal before grabbing for the bottle of liqueur and eyeballing what looked like approximately an ounce of the amber liquid. The ice crackled noisily as she slipped the bottle of liqueur back in the slot under the bar before grabbing for the sweet and sour mix blindly. She’d been stuck in this job so long, the location of their cocktail mixers were almost committed to memory and the margarita salt that seemed to be permanently trapped under her nails. She shot another glance at the blonde man who was, unsurprisingly, staring right back at her.
She huffed out a sigh and crouched down, taking a moment to regather herself and pretend to look for something before reemerging with an orange slice. She dropped the slice of citrus into the glass and set it in front of one of her regulars when she noticed a new face at the end of the bar. He had dark hair and dark eyes and appeared relatively friendly. Piper shot him a smile before tucking her cloth into her apron pocket and approaching him with a friendly smile.
“ Can I get you anything? ”
