Me. A bartender. (OK, stop laughing).
It went well. It did. I had a good time. Even made a considerable amount in tips. I was fooling everyone. There's Krista, who's afraid of strangers - and drunk people, chumming it up with drunk strangers. I learned how to play bar dice, some other dice game, that other dice game, and how to properly pour a shot of Goldschlager.
You learn something new every day. You really do. Anyway, then it happened. I was caught.
"You don't seem like the bartending type," said The Guy At The Bar, whom I just beat at bar dice.
And then he glanced nervously around. "You're too... too classy."
As if that were a dirty word.
Somewhere else in the drunken proclamation was something about my being "too cute" and "too good" for bartending, but classy? Classy? I had to sit down. But, well, bartenders can't sit. So, I took a shot instead. (He paid. He had to. I beat him at bar dice. It's the rules.)
I just looked up classy in the dictionary. Do you know what it says? Do you know what it says? It says "elegant and stylish." OK, well I'll give him stylish. I mean, I was wearing my new outfit. But elegant? This has made me re-think my entire world.
How can I become classless enough to fool the bar patrons? Will I forever stick out like a sore thumb in a smoke-filled room full of loud music, slurred speech and sticky shot glasses? This just can't be. I've been called "cute" before. Cute. As in, "Aww, look at the puppy. It's so cute." Uh, puppies don't make it far as bartenders.
So I need an arsenal. What should I do? Show more skin? OK, I can do that. Heavier makeup? Do I tease my hair? More padding in my bra? Change my name to "Krystal"? With a "y" for more effect? Flirt more? Bend over just far enough into the cooler to show a thong peeking from the back of my pants?
I need tips. I need advice. Or I'll forever be "Krista the Cute Bartender. Oh, And She Has Too Much Class."
Does "cute" and "classy" take a woman very far? I mean, look at Britney Spears. She's a bagillionaire, and she's neither cute or classy. But I guess if being "hot" and trashy winds me up with a husband like Kevin Federline, then, well, bring on the cute. And the class.
Maybe I just won't ever be the bartending-type. Whatever that may be. Excuse me, Guy At The Bar? What is the bartending type?
I suppose I can accept that it will never be me. But at least I can kick your butt at bar dice.