I contemplated folding these two stories into the bigger tale I’m writing, but between some writer’s block and just things taking too long, I decided to branch these off. Why? Because they’re just fun.

In hindsight, yesterday, 2/22/22, would have been the optimal time, but I caught myself staring at the computer screen until I decided to finish reading a book instead.

Anyway, these stories are supposed to lift your spirits now that we’re at war with Russia or something. So, here are two quick stories that sure made me smile.

Strut Your Stuff

As a bar without cover (because we aren’t a club and do you know how hard it is to create change in 14-degree blizzards?) we often still get asked what the cover is.

Normally, I’m quick to say there isn’t one, but about half the time, Travis Chorly will say something like, “whatever you want it to be.” This is met with confused looks eight times out of 10. The other two times are people who say “free” without realizing it’s already free. Not once has anyone ever offered money up when he’s said this.

But one woman hit us upside the head.

Travis Chorly: “What. Is. Up?”

Fearless Woman: “Nothing, what’s the cover,” she said reaching into her purse.

TC: “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

FW: “I have a tampon!”

Well shit, Travis, she called your bluff. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), we did not take her only tampon. Instead, she gave us something much better. Our new standing cover baseline is now the value of at least one tampon.

Breaking Rule No. 1

My main rule is not using real names. That’s why you see the likes of Travis Chorly, Peanut, Big Mac, Electro, Jorge Salchichas, Sparrow, and some other ones I still need to ask for future stories.

And that’s just my co-workers.

I need to come up with crafty names for the patrons of the bar. Some are clever. Or, as clever as I can be when I type these up at 10 pm. Some are just plain lazy.

In one story, the most popular of 2020, I gender swapped the two main characters and they still somehow found out, and tried to have me fired from my day job. But I still aim for 100% anonymity.

Until this post.

Because I have to quote it as is. It doesn’t work any other way.

I triple checked Facebook and the person who came into the bar isn’t any of the first 30 profiles. It is not a common name, and the story does not degrade the person. So, I pre-apologize if this story gets back to the person, but I mean no disrespect. It’s reverence.

OK. Here it goes.

A big party bus rolls up for either a bachelorette, bridal, or birthday party. Figuring out the kind of party when they get off the bus helps to know what kind of crowd it will be. Twenty-first birthdays are full of young woo girls, bachelorette parties are just woo girls with plastic penises, and bachelor parties are old frat dudes whose wives have significantly larger plastic penises at home.

This was a birthday party for a semi-regular with an even mix of men and women, all dressed in mostly black. Some were dressed to the nines, while others were wearing little-effort, last-minute garments, yet still sticking to the mostly black theme. Sequins were about the only highlight. Maybe a chain or two. Nothing overly flashy.

Everyone got in fine, but only stayed for one or two rounds of shots.

And then it was time to head out.

Cue the buddy system. There were 17, however, and there was an odd woman out. After 15 settled on the bus with relative ease, one came outside frantically looking for the final girl. She walked halfway into the road, looked at the bus, turned back toward the bar, confused, and shouts,

“Where My Bitch Sholanda?”

A perfect question in a perfect moment.

Now you see why another name just doesn’t work.

Unhappy with the non-response from the bus, the friend darts back inside the bar for a final look. Nothing. No trace of Sholanda. Exasperated, the friend goes back toward the bus. But she’s not giving up.

With one last gasp of desperation,

“Yo!
Sholanda!”

Like Shoeless Joe Jackson emerging from the Iowa cornfields, Sholanda doddered out the front door and back onto the party bus. And all was right with the world.