A Membrable Bartender
614 Words
Why am I right now in the wild west?
That was the first question that came to my head.
It was exactly what you would expect.
A very small village, with no more than a hundred citizens, two sheriffs, a small bank, a mine, and a bunch of very poorly built houses.
There were only two significant differences between the regular wild west and this setting.
The horses had been replaced by creatures that looked like small dinosaurs and the different types of bullets that could change the trajectory.
Other than these two small components, there was hardly any difference.
If you are ever in the wild west, the first thing to do is, of course, go to the bar.
Anyone that has seen a wild west movie knows that bartender always hold precious information. Well, it was mostly intuition that told me that, as I have no idea what a movie is.
I entered the poorly built bar.
People playing poker on the side gave me a curious glance. I must have looked strange, but I didn’t. I had clothes that matched the aesthetic.
All I was missing was a g*n.
I sat at the bar and ordered a drink; whiskey on the rocks. The bartender asked for payment first, and I conceded. I only had enough to pay for one drink, so I had to make it last.
The moment it was served, I regretted it very much. I hate whiskey, but you got to go for the cool points.
“Give me a drink, BaRtenDer,” said a man across the room.
…..
Anyway, I signaled to the bartender to come closer and asked him the question that was bugging my mind.
“Where are we”
The bartender looked at me with a very puzzling look, as if it were obvious. I mean, why wouldn’t you know, right?
“I don’t know,” said the bartender, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Let me think for a minute.
(please do wait for a minute)
Okay so, I touched the g*n that the pair offered me, and suddenly I was here. The bartender does not know where we are, and I have no idea what I am supposed to do.
This is not an ideal situation to be in.
“Anyway, who are you?” asked the bartender.
The men playing poker stifled a laugh.
“Just a stranger,” I said.
I kept drinking my whiskey, satisfied with my super cool remark, until the bartender looked at me again.
“Anyway, who are you?” asked the bartender.
What.
“Oh Jimmy, how ya doing?” asked the bartender. He was looking at me.
Again,
What.
I don’t even know what to say.
“Can I get a drink, BarTenDer”
…..
Why are we looping again?
The men playing poker kept laughing.
I looked at them, got up from my chair, and got close to them.
“What’s so funny?” I asked them.
One of the men got up,
“What’s your problem, buddy?”
Why did he have an Italian accent? What even is Italian?
I’ve never been in a bar before, but in the army, when someone said those exact words, I knew what was going to happen next.
Before the man could even say anything else, I was already swinging.
And it was very much pointless, as his face did not even move from the impact.
Shit.
And I received a right hook so hard, I almost instantly dropped to the floor.
But in those moments before I touched the ground, I realized something.
The bartender just had a shitty memory.
- Writer
