No matter when I make last call at the bar, there are always stragglers who try to squeeze one more out of me 10 minutes before I lock the doors.
Normally I give in, because I’m in the business of making people happy, but it can get pretty trying. Where the hell were you 20 minutes ago when I came to your table and told you we were closing?
“Can I get one more please?” a middle-aged blonde asked me at 9:51.
I looked at my watch. “Can you drink it in the next nine minutes?”
She scoffed. “I’m a colonel in the Army.”
“So…?”
“So I can definitely drink a beer in nine minutes.”
I hadn’t realized that part of achieving that particular rank involved speed drinking. “I mean, are those things connected?” I asked. “I can drink a beer in nine minutes, and I’ve never been in the Army.”
“Army colonels can drink.”
I poured the beer and put it on the bar. “There you go. Clock’s ticking, colonel.”
Despite her claims, the colonel did NOT finish her beer in the allotted time.
Regardless of military rank, they never do.
I Don't Belong Here. 