Here's a tip...

Dear Clueless Male Bar Patron,

That female bartender is not in love with you!

Now, I know it's been said a million times, but I'm going to lay it out here, because apparently it hasn't reached the correct channels. Or maybe you've heard it, but can't possibly believe it applies to you. Trust me, sir. It does.

I'm not being mean. Just honest. The following holds true for any venue where drinks are served by chicks. In this case, I am said chick.

We are not on a date. I didn't agree to come here with you because I'm interested in where the evening might take us. I was already here when you walked in the door. Doing my job. Don't be fooled by the candlelight and music. I do this for everybody.

I understand your confusion. I am giving mixed signals. Keep this in mind: I have to smile at you and try to genuinely laugh while I try to think of a neutral response to your gay-ass inappropriate joke. Look closely for the strain around my eyes. See that?

Oh no! For God's sake, did you just wink? Don't do that! Under any circumstances! Your eye doesn't really want to do it. Feel the uncomfortable tug when just one shuts? That's your eye trying to subtly tell you not to be a douchebag. Listen to your body!

Please just let me get my shit done, because other people that aren't annoying me need their martini. Believe it or not, standing here with one hand on my hip is not a flirting stance, I'm poised to escape to the urgent conversation the waitress and I will pretend to have at the end of the bar.

And don't be upset when my shift is over and I don't stay to have a drink with you. We've just spent a minimum of four hours together much to my vexation. That wonderfully huge tip you left doesn't buy my time after I walk out from behind the bar. But it does help me justify this job that helps me maintain while I pursue an alternative career. That's right! This isn't all I do! No, I don't want to talk about it. And no, you can't have it back. Sucka!

Never yours,
Sarah