The Whine Bar

The Penfolds of blogs

Archive for the tag “vodka”

Shy or Sly?

Girls, how’s this for a pick up story?

I was working in the bar alone on a quiet monday night. Your typical crowd came in for $12 steak night but by 9pm my voice was the only one to be heard above the constant hum of the pokie tunes. The knowledge that we would be open for another three hours was never far from my mind. However, my luck turned. A group of guys, all around 23, walked through the doors. As they approached the bar I took the chance to eyeball. The three of them were dressed in chinos, two with baseball shirts, the last had a button up denim look going for him. Straight away I decided that they were not my type and served them their vodka, lime and sodas tall glasses with straws.
After an hour, the dominant personality of the group started to throw a few comments my way. Nothing special, just your average chit chat. While I was engaging in the not so thrilling banter of Mr Personality, I noticed that Denim Shirt kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t because he was trying to check me out or anything, he just seemed really shy and didn’t know how to intereact with a female.

A few drinks later it was Mr Shy’s turn to buy the round. I watched him nervously approach the bar. I casually went over and asked how his night was going and if they lived in the area. He just beamed a rather large smile at me and nodded. Ok,  didn’t really answer my question but I chalked it up to the nerves. So to put him out of his misery, I asked if they were having the same order. He shook his head and flashed that smile of his. He began to say something that came out as “Su….Sup…Sss”. Within a few seconds he had given up, held out three fingers and pointed to the Super Dry tap.

They ended up staying until close and the entire time Smiley kept bearing his pearly whites. I couldn’t understand why he just wouldn’t talk to me though. At midnight, as they were leaving, he came up to the bar and dropped a note in front of me. Written on the back of a TAB ticket was

Hi my name is Asher,
I am so sorry I didn’t grab your name or number but I have this condition that makes me stutter when I am nervous. It seems to only happen when I talk to pretty bartenders. No point giving you my phone number because if you called I would be reduced to a stuttering mess. I hope to see you again sometime”

The next night, sure enough, he came in to collect my number. No stutter this time! When he asked why I wouldn’t give it to him I simply said, “It was a lie”.
His response was “But it worked. I had you thinking about me all day and wondering when I would be in next”
I have to admit, it was a pretty cute, and a well executed move!


Long Straws, Lies and Low Carbs

Guys, ever tried to impress the female bartender with your order? Here’s how NOT to do it!

*Southern comfort is for bourbon drinkers who don’t like bourbon
*If your drink of choice is rum- go for a Mount Gay or Ron de Jeremy
*Bundy is only acceptable if you’re wearing a flanny, belt buckle and at a barn dance!

*If you order a vodka don’t try and pretend it’s not for you with a line like “oh that’s for my friend”
*Don’t try and butch it up by taking the straw out with a scoff. All that says is your masculinity can be questioned by a straw!

*Never ask which beers are low carb
*If you order a light, i don’t need to know it is because you are driving
*Don’t order a shandy and compensate by lowering your voice and winking at me


The Desperate Housewives

I sit in the next room spying on the mothers group meeting in the boardroom of the hotel. The women seem to be getting their weekly fix of gossip. The bottles of wine around the table seem oddly out of place with the bunch of prams crowding the room. The shrill, urgent voices of desperate housewives who have too much to say resonate throughout the hall outside. Typical of their title, the housewives could almost be epitomised by the beverages they consumed.

The obviously boozed woman of the group was given away by two bottles of wine. One, lying empty on the table in front of her, the other clutched protectively in her hand. Her longing eyes darting around the table from each glass of wine gave the impression that at any moment she could leap the distance and skull the contents.

A manicured hand gripped the first woman’s arm supportively and her shoulders slumped in defeat. The hand belonged to a beautiful woman dressed only in expensive labels. If I told you she was drinking a Cosmo, you wouldn’t be surprised. Her heavily made up face turned across the table to the source of wailing that had just begun. She gave a look of pity.

The hysterical crying came from a baby in the arms of a woman who had the sense of drowning about her. Her frantic pleading with the baby came to no avail and eventually got up to leave. Her unwashed hair and day old make up was illuminated by the unforgiving lights as she stood up. All that was left behind was an empty glass that had momentarily held a double vodka. Straight.

The only other woman in the group hadn’t drawn my attention until Double Vodka had left the room. Sitting hunched in a corner she looked shy and perhaps a little scared. I got the feeling she was happy to stay in the shadows. The glass of water she sipped unobtrusively was appropriate however, the lemon in her glass seemed a little risqué.

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