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| - I am not from Cleveland. The concierge at the Marriott told me to go to Barley House after I asked him where a decent sports bar was. He must get a kickback for the recommendation. So I walked down to sixth street and as I was walking I felt a leaf or bug or something hit me (foreshadowing). When I arrived at Barley I still had enough time to try out for next season of Big Brother. There was no line and the dj was basically begging people to audition. I looked around at the half empty room then sat at the bar in front of a flat screen tuned to the NFL network. My bartender was one of four different petite girls in plaid mini-skirts. I was wearing business casual and would have fit in much better had my shirt been tighter, more v-necked and had more dragons on it. For my first ten minutes at the bar I didn't have a bartender. Then little girl walked up to me and said: "did you want a drink or something?"
I ordered an extra dry, dusty Belvedere martini. She said: "is that like with the olive water?" I said, "Yeah, just a little bit though." She shook up my drink and served it with a short fat neon green straw that looked like 1/3 of a boba tea straw. I took a sip and hated her for putting in so much vermouth.
She ignored me for another ten minutes before I finally made eye contact with her long enough to ask for a menu. I ordered a turkey pineapple sandwich that I thought sounded like a Muslim friendly Hawaiian pizza or something. When she took my order I asked for one of the four special sauces that are supposed to come with their waffle fries. She said, "The fries come with ketchup." I said, "Right, but I noticed on the menu you advertise four special sauces that you recommend pairing with the fries." Her, "most people just get ketchup." Then she walked away. That bitch, god I hated her. She made me feel like i was sitting in a cool person's seat at the high school cafeteria. "Bitch I'm a paying customer helping your douche bar stay in business in an unfriendly economy, You need to serve my ass with a smile." A male bartender noticed me looking helplessly around the bar for help after little girl deserted me. He took my bacon - chive fry dipping sauce order.
Sandwich came and tasted shitty. Fries came with the sandwich and tasted fantastic, thank god I had that dipping sauce. I didn't finish and I asked for my bill as soon as I took the last sip of my martini. Little girl tried to put on a false friendly front in time to salvage her tip, but I wasn't playing that game. She got a 12% tip, which is the lowest I've ever given.
So now I'm back at the hotel enjoying a Sam Adams. Earlier my hands were a bit greasy from my Turkey pineapple sandwich so I went to my Marriott sink to wash them. When I looked up at myself in the mirror I noticed a silver dollar sized splotch of bird shit on my forehead / hairline. Apparently it wasn't a bug or a leaf; FUCK!
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