Working behind the bar she meets men of all ages. All of them, at some point in the evening, will want her time and not simply to order drinks. They want her attention. They want to impress her. They want… let’s not be coy, we know exactly what they want. They start by telling her their life stories with all their complicated and lurid details. She hears details of romantic disasters, sob stories that could be straight out of a soap opera and domestic tragedies that would be comic if they were not so regularly self-inflicted. At some point in the evening, usually when one too many drinks have been consumed, there is the inevitable slurred suggestion of “I could love you what time do you get off, we could have some fun”. She takes a weary breath and hiding her exasperation dispenses a little well-meaning advice. “Go home. You are not in love with me. You. Are. Just. Drunk”.
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