Working in a bar seems to mean to some patrons, “Hit on me.”
I’m not saying I get hit on a lot, but it happens occasionally. I always diffuse it with something like, “You’d have to ask my husband.” Or, “Thank you, but I’m happily married.”
But last night… last night was epic.
I ended up playing along just to see how far the guy would go. Tall tales abound about his various “impressive antics” as he tried to convince me to go to supper with him.
“It isn’t a date! Just two friends getting to know each other!”
I declined.
“I have a fast car. Do you like cars?”
*facepalm*
“I’ve been pulled over 18 times and never gotten a ticket.”
Riiiight.
“When do you get off work?”
The fun part was how by the end of his attempts, my husband was standing beside me taking it all in as well.
As the guy left, my husband asked why I didn’t pull the married card. I shrugged and said that they guy was spinning his wheels with me. I said no. That should have been enough.
Besides, sometimes being hit on becomes like listening to old men talk about fishing. The further it goes, the taller the tale…
