(I am a somewhat overweight, socially awkward guy. I don’t go clubbing too much because I don’t blend in well, but a lot of my friends club regularly. I am invited one night to accompany them to the most popular local club, where the crowd is mainly made up of popular, preppy college-kids who are unfortunately mostly smug and look down on anyone who isn’t ‘perfect.’ While my friends dance, I wander over to the bar to grab a drink. An attractive young bartender looks at me – the only person patiently waiting who hasn’t yet been served – but instead decides to ask every… single… other person at the bar if they want anything before she even looks at me again.)

Bartender: *hastily* “What do you want?”

Me: “How much would a cheap rum & coke cost me?”

Bartender: “Ugh. I could get you one with bottom-shelf rum with $3.50.”

Me: *trying to be friendly and easy-going* “Okay, I’ll have that. I’m not super picky when I go clubbing.”

(She rolls her eyes, makes me my drink, but doesn’t give it to me. Instead, she goes to the largest group nearby and again checks on them all repeatedly before she returns. She practically throws my drink at me.)

Bartender: *with a smug, sarcastic smile* “Oh, I’m soooo sorry, but I accidentally put in some of the more expensive rum into this. It’ll be $7. But if you can’t afford it, I suppose I could make you another one with the cheap stuff. You look like you probably can’t spend too much the way you’re dressed.”

(I was tight for cash. I only had about an extra $10 bill, some singles and some change with me so I could order a few drinks, but I didn’t want her to ‘win.’)

Me: “Oh, that’s fine. I’ll take that.”

(I hand her the $10 I have, and once again, rather than just giving me my change, she purposely goes to several other people first, making sure to glance at me with a smug look, before she finally gets me my change.)

Bartender: *nasty chuckle* “Here’s $3. I could get you a shot of the cheap stuff if that’s all you got left.”

(I took the money and waved her away. I then noticed that instead of handing me three $1 bills, she had accidentally handed me three $10 bills. Seeing an opportunity, I went back to my group, picked a very attractive female friend, and told her to ‘play along.’ You can imagine the bartender’s surprise when I ordered myself and my very attractive friend two rounds of expensive drinks, while my friend pretended to be enamored by me. After spending about $40 on drinks, I purposely left a spare penny I had for a tip.)

(My boyfriend has a very close friend who he has often gone away with to concert festivals, ski trips, or other weekend events. They also both really like craft beer and will go out to fancy bar/restaurants; all of this just the two of them. I like to tease him about this and he usually gets “mad” when I do.)

Boyfriend: “I’m gonna tell [Friend] that we just got here and see where he’s at.”

(I receive a text from my boyfriend saying: “Just got here. What’s your ETA?”)

Me: “Hey, I think you texted me instead of [Friend]. I know it can get confusing, since you’re dating both of us.”

Boyfriend: *giving up* “Yeah, I guess that explains it.”

(My friend and I are a couple middle aged guys hanging out and eating. We’ve been talking across the aisle to another pair of regulars we call ‘The Professors.’ Our waitress for the evening has become a friend over time and she was comfortable enough with us to pull up a chair to our table to sit and talk. She leaves to go help other customers and I see a good looking woman approach behind my friend. She looks confused and heads toward the men’s room. A minute later she returns.)

Woman: “Do you know where the ladies’ room is? I thought it was back there.”

Me: “They are doing some remodeling, but it’s always been the men’s room back there. The women’s is right behind you.”

(She tries the door and it seems locked. She points to the empty seat.)

Woman: “Can I sit here?”

Friend: “Sure, have a seat.”

Woman: “Didn’t you, like, have a hot chick sitting here?”

Me: *laughs* “That’s our waitress. She likes to hang out with us sometimes.”

Woman: “Oh, okay.”

(She sits and makes a little small talk.)

Me: “You know, someone just came out of the ladies’ room just before you got here. It should be open.”

(She tries the door again and it opens.)

Woman: “I’m really not that blonde.”

(Shortly she’s back out again, but decides to sit at our table again.)

Woman: “Oh, do you have a camera on your phone?”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Woman: “Take a picture of me!” *snap* “Oh, get a picture of both of us!” *she stands by my friend and I get a couple more pictures* “Oh, let me see!”

(I hand her my phone and she starts flipping through the gallery and stops on one.)

Woman: “Oooh! He’s hot! Who is this?”

Me: “That’s my son.”

Woman: “Oops, never mind. I need to get out more often. I’ve got a 15-year-old son keeps me busy.”

Me: “You don’t look like you could have a son that age.”

Friend: “Definitely not.”

Woman: “Oh, I don’t have enough money left to give you a tip.” *we all laugh* “Oh, how do you turn the camera around?”

(I show her and she basically gets on my friend’s lap and shoots selfies of the two of them for a minute.)

Woman: “Well, I’d better go. Thank you!”

(She leaves.)

Friend: “Did that just happen?”

One Of The Professors: “So do you two know her?”

Us: “Never saw her before in our lives.”

(A regular bar patron who would drink Irish coffee and run his yap is talking about French fries, when he spots me, the chef.)

Customer: “Do you put corn meal on your French fries?”

Me: “Uh… no.”

Customer: “F*** you!”

(He later died, and his repass was held in our banquet room. That day, we put corn meal on our French fries.)

(My grandparents die within six months of each other, and after the second funeral, my dad has lost his parents and was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and I’m on my third funeral in eight months – it’s been a rough year so we’re more than a little drunk and a little maudlin.)

Dad: “When I go…”

Me: “Dad.”

Dad: “No. When I go, I don’t want you to be sad.”

Sister: “We’re going to be sad.”

Dad: “I don’t want you get all dressed up and stuff. I want to be put in a cardboard box, driven in a blue van, and buried under [his local pub].”

Me: “I’m not sure they’ll let us do that.”

Sister: “We’ll do it at night.”

Me: “What, with a stealth JCB digger?”

Dad: “I’m serious. Jeans, blue van, party.”

Me: “We can do that.”

Cousin: “Does the van have to blue, [Uncle]?”

Dad: “Yes. That’s the most important bit.”

(To this day he still wants to be buried in his jeans, in a cardboard box, and driven in a van. Though he’s more flexible on the colour.)