What? No Sleepover?

No offense against bartenders, but there are a lot of reasons you should not consider exchanging dialogue with one aside from trying to score a free shot of Jameson.

Once upon a time in a bar in D.C. I ran across a rather attractive man with a shit poor personality.  Oh, I thought to myself, he is trying to give off a hard-ass persona.. yeah, I could do that.  Drink one, drink two, drink three down and a discounted check, alas, numbers were exchanged.

Aforementioned bartender and myself hung out on several occasions but it was nothing completely serious.  I knew he was not relationship material, he was a 30 year old bartender and that was not my idea of stability.  Ironically, one day bartender decided to shoot me a formal "text" inquiring about my plans for the evening.   "What's up?"  He asks.  "Not much," I respond.  "So yeah, there is this posh restaurant opening tonight, I got an invite, want to be my plus one?"  He asks.   I think to myself, hmmm.. this is a date, he is just a bartender, should I?  Fuck it, I think, why not I should give him a chance.

Later that evening I show up to the posh restaurant opening to find bartender already seated in the sole spot at the bar.  Standing there, awkwardly in stilettos, he looks at me.. "Oh, you want this seat or something?"  I can tell this isn't going to be good...

After a 15 minute dialogue about how amazing he is at his job as lead bartender, and how he basically owns all of Eastern Market DC, we finally get sat.  Two course into our free meal, bartender looks at me, "So hey, did you bring any cash?"  "Well, no,"  I respond puzzled, "Did I need to?"
"Well, it is just that we need to tip," He replies.  "We?,"  I think to myself.  "Well, no, do I need cash?"
"Could ya?  There is an ATM around the corner?"  He asks, "Hey, if you don't want to walk, just give me your ATM card and pin and I will go ahead and withdrawal it for you."
Puzzled I am still sitting there, I hesitantly get up to make my walk-of-shame to the ATM, wondering why I am doing it and then remembering the poor server that has been serving us.  As I walk up to the ATM, I receive a text, "Withdrawal AT LEAST 60 bucks please."  Are you fucking kidding me?
My way back to the restaurant I send the emergency "save me" text to my sister and neighbor and I walk back into the mess that is my date.

Anxiously awaiting my ride home and the end of the dinner, I have already tipped the waitress but my suitor-douchebag-bartender is engaging me with conversation about life, love and pursuit of success.

"So, I told you I live in my mom's basement right?"  He asks.
"No, no I am pretty sure you never told me that, " I reply.
"Yeah, just saving up for a house.  I am thinking about 500 to 750 thousand," he says.
I think to myself, "You're gonna have to stick a fuckload more chicks with tabs to accomplish that you fucking douche."

As I am checking my phone and awaiting a rescue, Bartender Suitor decides to give me his input on relationships and love.
"So, not to sound sexist, but I do not think women should wait to get married until thirty."
"Why is that," I respond.
"Well see, I am 30 now.  I am not ready to settle down till like 35.  When I am 35, I don't want some 35 year old also.  I want some 26,27 year old hot thing,"  he says.
He continues, "See, some 35 year old is gonna give me down-syndrome retarded babies."

As I am watching the phone awaiting my rescue, my suitor walks into the bathroom.
This is the prime time for escape.  I drop the obligatory tip and rush out the door to my rescue ride.

Ten minutes later as I am pulling into my apartment I receive a text from the bartender suitor, "What, no sleepover tonight?"

I wonder if he couldn't afford the cab ride home?