The bar was closed to the public for a wedding reception tonight. Buyouts are fun because they’re a nice change of pace. The other bartender and I wore polo shirts and got to feel fancy uncorking bottles of wine and watching someone’s drunk uncle dancing to the Cupid Shuffle.
Over the course of the night, we had a couple of customers who came in and tried to order beers like it was just a regular Saturday night. Most of the smarter ones saw the giant CLOSED sign on the door and turned around, but half a dozen made it to the bar and tried to order before they figured out what was happening.
“Sorry man, we’re closed for a private event,” I said to one regular.
“Really?” he said.
“Yes, really. This is a wedding reception. Look around.” I pointed to the vases of flowers on the bar.
“So I can’t get a beer?”
“Sorry man, the registers are shut down. I couldn’t sell you a beer if I wanted to.”
I’m not sure what wasn’t sinking in, but the guy kept going. “I can’t, like, drink a beer in the back or something?”
“People PAID for this space tonight,” I said. “We’re closed, bud.”
“C’mon man, my dog died today.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that, but there’s nothing I can do. We’re CLOSED for a WEDDING.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am 100 percent certain we are closed for a wedding.”
He looked at the party once more and sighed. “Okay then. Catch you on the flip.”
I Don't Belong Here. 