Man, once those orders for White Russians start coming in, they just don't stop. It would be nice if there was enough room behind the bar to keep backup milk for these ocsasions. The truth is that there's barely enough room for two bartenders to work together without being married to each other much less there being spare room to stock back-up mixers.
You've got to hand it to this new girl, despite her deer-trapped-in-the-headlights blind panic, she remembered you asked her to bring these. You grab them and shove one of them into liquor well.
"Ok Sheila, listen up. Thanks for the milk. Now repeat after me...I am doing my job to the best of my ability so I have no reason to be worried about the boss watching over my shoulder."
"I am doing my job and...something...what?"
Why the median intelligence level of the employees here hovers around reality show contestant levels shouldn't come as a surprise anymore, but it never fails to elicit a deeply painful and sad sigh from you.
And then you just get back to work.