he's a poor witness

He's not a liar but his stories can't be trusted. I don't know what the opposite of wearing rose colored glasses is but I'm certain he does it.


It's seasonal where my choicest seat is, if the heat or A/C isn't running then it's chair number two, otherwise it number one then followed by number three. The worst is in the corner followed by the one next to that. I end up in the seats I don't like too often.

But the thing about the seats I don't like is that you get a top to bottom view of the barkeeps when they're pouring drafts that you don't get from any other seat. I don't go there to ogle so those seats still suck but I do notice things. And I was noticing that her jeans weren't doing her ass justice when I a spilling beer caught my eye. It was a full pint. The bartenders have a bit of distain for those who spill their beers all over the bar.

I remember thinking "Her day just got worse." Things were moving in slow motion just like in any accident that you see coming. I noticed that the beer wasn't just going to soak the bar and run off into the ice chest, it was traveling faster than that.

Emily was pouring a draft from the first of seven taps but even that wasn't far enough away. It caught her right above her waist line, soaked the right side of her ass and down to her shoe.

Her shift wouldn't end for another twelve hours. I was running through all the places in the area that sold women's jeans on a Sunday afternoon and could name three. I then thought about what size she was, I guessed a two only because I don't like thinking about women being a size zero.

I didn't make any eye contact with her because I knew she was pissed and it took her a few minutes to calm down.

"And you know what? I brought an extra pair of jeans today because I knew something stupid was going to happen today."

"Yeah, and when he started talking to you I just wanted to tell him just to shut up, there was nothing he could say that would make it better but he just kept on talking."