Athfest.

Wow. I am so tired I can barely type. This was a long and trying weekend, as well as an incredibly rocking one. While I was not able to navigate the schedule as freely as I did last year, I was still able to see a lot of excellent rock and roll. First, my customer of the weeken d story:
Friday night, 1:50 am (ten minutes before close, for those of you unfamiliar with the college town rigamarole).
Creepy dude: Can I get a Red Stripe?
Me: Of course.
CD: Are there other places that are open later here?
ME: Nope. College town, man. Everything pretty much shuts down at two.
CD: That's how it is in my town, too.

Silence as I wipe down coolers and collect fruit trays.

CD: So when are you and I going to Amsterdam?
ME: Probably never, since my husband generally frowns upon me going to foreign countries with strange men.
CD: Oh, that's not what I meant. We're just friends.
ME: Really?
I walk off and start re-stcoking beer coolers. Five minutes later, I walk by him with a couple cases of beer.
CD: The Grill is open.
ME: That's true. And they have food. So there you go.
I walk off and hide. He leaves.

Saturday Night.
The B.H. sees Creepy Dude enter bar, makes his way quickly over to him.
B.H.: Can I help you?
CD: (Points at me.)
B.H.: What do you need?
CD: (Points at me again).
B.H.: What do you need?
CD: It just feels better when it comes from her.
B.H.: I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but that's my wife.
CD: I'll have a Red Stripe.