I went out to meet up with my cousin and her husband at the local watering hole downtown. I had just put in a double in exchange for the next day off, which meant I would finally have time to go out, and I snag those chances whenever I get them with the amount of time I work, plus school full-time. 

It was a great night. I count my drinks, and I was trying to obtain number three at this point. 

I had left my cousin and her family to hang out with my boyfriend, so we hit up a different bar around the corner.  

This bar is a great bar—my parents know the owner and bartenders. It’s got that dim, dungeon feel where you could successfully hide your side-bitch in a corner and never get caught.  

I have three one dollar bills left because, when left to my own devices, I’ll have zero in my bank account. 

I order my Labatt Blue Light from a bartender who’s been known as Psycho Sam for way too long. The total is $3.75 and my boyfriend has gone to the bathroom with the rest of our money. 

“I promise I have another dollar! My boyfriend has it but he just went to the bathroom!” I plead with Adam, the bartender.

He stares back at me blankly with his “I’m sure, Sam” face he’s given me before.  

“Sure, that’s what ALL the girls say. I want my damn tip too!” He takes my three dollars and hands me the beer.  

Side note: I’d planned on getting two dollars from my boyfriend when he showed up again, but that actually pissed me off. Especially because he makes bank off my parents who drink boatloads multiple times a week. 

Second side note: I had just worked a double, after also working the evening shift the night before. The last time I had time to shower was probably well over twenty-four hours before this moment. I also probably stunk. I’d come straight home from work around 10:30PM and did not change out of my Kentucky State University t-shirt or my over-worn workout leggings I never use to work out in. My hair was piled on top of my head, sticking out in every direction, and I’m on this kick where I enjoy wearing ankle socks with sandals every hour of the day. Tonight I sported my black socks with fuzzy black slides, looking like a complete lazy bum. The socks honestly probably stunk too. 

Cue Captain Save-A-Ho. 

He laughs and throws Adam the last dollar for my beer. 

“I promise I have another dollar! It’s just in the bathroom with my boyfriend right now!” he mocks, and laughs again, informing me I don’t need to give him back the dollar. 

Now let me be clear, this guy honestly wasn’t that bad, but his friends were. They were doing the stereotypical nodding and winking like I was going to fuck this man for covering the last $0.75 of my beer. 

As they’re nodding and looking my way, with Adam being an ass in this situation, my boyfriend comes back from the bathroom and I loudly yell, “Hey babe! You need to give this nice man a dollar for covering the last dollar of my beer!” And he whips out a dollar to give to the guy. 

This guy automatically goes into what appeared to be a nervous immediate handshake mode and completely missed the dollar. My boyfriend laughs and shakes his head at me saying I do this stuff all the time—and the nervous handshake ensues two more times. 

Now, I’ll never be totally sure on whether this guy was just being genuinely nice and covering my buck, or if he was a sleaze. I know the bartender didn’t get his tip, and my parents chewed me out for it, telling me I need to learn to take a joke, too.

My gut tells me this guy was a genuinely nice guy. I don’t think his friends were, though. I also chalk it up to me being the dumbass I normally am and causing these situations to occur with my constant obliviousness to reality, and being generally unprepared for life.  

I think what makes this story scary for young men is I could twist it any way I please, and it’ll be taken that way. So if this poor young guy was truly being a gentleman and just getting me my damn beer, it’s sad I can paint him to be a creep. 

So guy at downtown Geneva bar—if you read this—tell your friends not to be weirdos in situations like this. If you weren’t being genuine though, heed my warning: I’m not the only woman who owns a big, fat mouth these days. And your days? They’re numbered.



Author: Samantha Parish
Email: samantha22parish@gmail.com
Link to social media: Instagram @samantha_susanx

by Samantha Parish

Samantha Parish is a 28 year old woman, residing in upstate NY, going to college for her writing degree. She has self published her first poetry collection, titled ‘Beautiful Burning Bitch’. She hopes to one day be able to share her experiences, strengths, and hopes, using writing to reach those who need it the most. She enjoys poetry and prose thoroughly, but also enjoys creating a good old fashioned YA fiction. She enjoys iced tea and cats, along with a good book and a day of being lazy.


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