Sports
When I was 22, or thereabouts, I worked in a sports bar called The Sportsman’s Grille, close to Vanderbilt, in Nashville. I mostly worked days, but for big sporting events, I worked nights. Like the NCAA finals, one year, when Vandy was in them, when the bar was so full I had to carry pitchers over my head and yell, “Messy waitress!”
One night, at a table of 15, a *ahem* gentleman whistled for me. I walked over and asked, “What can I do for you?” He said, “I’d like another pitcher.” I walked to the bar manager and told him about the man whistling for me. My manager offered to kick the man out.
“I’d rather handle it,” I said.
I took the pitcher of beer, slammed it down on the table, and said, “Sir, my name is Lia, and I respond a hell-u-va lot better when you call me my name or Ma’am than I do when you whistle at me.”
He looked apologetic. Then, of course, he paid the tab for the table of 15. And left me a 30% tip.
Still, I think that’s why I don’t like sports.
In spite of this, I watched the Ravens in their bid for the Super Bowl last night. I’m sad that they got beat.