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| - I live up at the west end of Cheyenne, by 215; I worked all day, finally got done and coming down the 95 so I can stop at the Target up the street and I'm dying for a beer and burger. Mind you, I know I'm gonna be passing the whole crowd: Steiner's, Putters, Timbers - never seen a town with so many "chain" bar establishments and I'm kinda partial to small locals joints so I've never been to any of the aforementioned despite living here the past few years.
Anyway: I decide to stop at Timbers, and this location ruined it for the entire bunch.
They have some booths and tables, but I'm a single guy and I like making it easy on everybody and just sitting at the bar, so: I avoid all the empty video slot seats that have a thoughtfully placed plastic placard over the screen reminding me to not even bother sitting in the stool to buy food and drink from the bar (because that's just small change) if I'm not gonna pour money into the game, and steer for a non-gaming commoner seat. I pull the bar stool away from the bar and climb on - I'm excited: hungry, thirsty, let's DO this. Blonde chick bartender walks over right away, says "can I get ya something to drink?" and I reply with "got a menu?" - "sure!", and she turns to the bar, grabs one and puts it in front of me. She waits, expectantly, and man - I knew I wanted a burger but I open the menu anyway cuz maybe they got some good shiznit in here, amiright? So after it becomes obvious I'm browsing, she's out with "take your time, can I get you a drink while you look at the menu?"
Well hell yes. I ain't here for the huntin'. I say "yeah - whattya got on tap?"
"You sure about that?" she says.
-blank stare from me -
"I just made a pot of coffee, it's fresh and hot. You were kinda staggering when you came in here."
What. The. #%$&.
Did you just say what I think you said? You think I'm drunk? Obviously you don't know I just got off work. You don't know I'm recovering from what the doctor said was the worst ankle injury he'd ever seen in his career. And you clearly don't know how to spot intoxicated patrons, because that evaluation is based on multiple criteria. Was my speech slurring? No, because I'm not retarded or a stroke victim. Or drunk. Was my hand-eye coordination off? I seemed to grab the menu and thumb it okay, I could read, after I removed my glasses and DIDNT drop them. Did I walk funny? Yeah, I'm #%$&ing disabled, maybe you could go check my license plates or something.
I explained that I just got off work, I had an injury causing a limp, thanked her for her concern, and repeated my beer request. I ordered my burger, which was overcooked and overpriced (medium doesn't mean cooked all the way through with not a trace of pink in any menu I've seen) and was mostly served by the laid-back dude bartender after that, probably because I was such a painful customer to deal with. Despite the MULTIPLE loud-mouthed, OBVIOUSLY-drunken pool players, I'm sure I was the biggest pain-in-the-butt to serve last night because coming in with a big pocketful of American money to buy a burger and a beer makes me a potential new customer and apparently that might threaten someone's comfortable little kingdom. Way to not know jack about customer service, boneheads. You probably think I'm an @$$hole for writing this, and believe me the feeling is reciprocated after paying you to serve me dinner. If it's any comfort, I've already learned my lesson and picked up some ground beef on the way home - damn good juicy bacon cheeseburger sitting on my plate as I write this, at least one Michelin star better than yours - we'll have to agree to go our own ways: I'll keep my money and you can keep your stanky smoke-stained prima-donna saloon.
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