Jim pauses. He looks you up and down with bloodshot, wizened eyes that have seen many a bartender come and go before you. A look crosses his face that is impossible to distinguish between anger and mild amusement. Only Jim manages to successfully achieve these types of looks and for some reason, no matter which one it is, they still make you feel ill at ease.
"You know what Jim? I don't know what I was thinking. I don't need a card for you." Jim raises an eyebrow at you as you give him his drinks but says nothing more. Perhaps you had better let your co-worker serve him for the rest of the night. Jim is a moody tipper, and God knows you ain't here for your health.
One of the waitresses suddenly rushes up to the bar with a panicked look on her face. She cocks her head towards the server station in an attempt to get you to come over to a more private conversational zone. Naturally curious, but a bit hesitant, about what ever has got her in a huff, you head over.
"The owner, Mr Porker is here." she says breathlessly, heaving her ample bosom at you as her eyes dart nervously about. Even as you silently appreciate the view, you laugh at her newness. Seriously, newness...next to her you're practically a dirty old man for even thinking about her that way.