I wish I could stab him with the blue checkmark poised over his head, the dog!
It had been a typical busy Friday night, when Franco Marxxx waltzed into my bar. Hair unmoving in the breeze that sprinted in through the door with him, he was as ghastly in person!
He walked slowly, ignoring the room. It was obvious that several giggling groups of women knew who he was, and of course, so did I. These days everyone is paying Marxxx to advertise for them, and a scroll on socials means seeing his sparkly self.
Yes, his trademark thing is to cover himself in head-to-toe sparkles, if you didn't know already. Something like a strobe light effect is always on him in ads, and somehow reality wasn't much different. Even in the low light of our swanky lounge, each ounce of brightness found him, rebounding painfully against the eye.
He doesn't notice any of this however, as his glitter eyes are glued to his phone screen. Like royalty, the drunkards part to let our pseudo celebrity pass by. Guy comes up to my counter and says "Water." just like that. Whatever, I wasn't particularly keen on a chat anyhow.
I slide the highball glass his way, and the white length of the straw in it hits him like a car, "A straw?!" he gasps. "That is such a microaggression." he tells his phone this mind you, as we've yet to make eye contact. Realizing that Franco Marxxx isn't interested in them, his star eyed fans go back to their conversations, eyes darting over occasionally.
I'm left in the glow of his presence, where he leaves me an age-old gem along my worn-out eardrums. I ask what he's having, and he asks, "What do you serve?". The 10-foot menu that towers over me in brightly colored chalk sighs with me, it is hard to be constantly ignored. Of course, Franco would like a paper menu. Cool, have 12 my guy! Just, one and done, please...
He orders a classic whiskey sour, after scanning the menu like he was looking for typos. He chugs it down in 4 sips, just in time to spot an array of interesting characters approaching the door. Yay! It's his friends, and no, they don't want a table. "The authentic feeling of a lounge is at the bar", they laugh in my face, a woman who clearly knows nothing of these things.
After they discuss my menu loudly for a bit, talking about how "pedestrian" it is to have a classic whiskey sour listed (Franco nodding emphatically at this, obviously) their eyes move to my star beverage. The sarcasm in my brain boils over, trick of the trade, and I got to thinking. There are no crap situations behind the bar, just crap ideas.
Maybe instead of cursing my fortune, I should be promoting my feature cocktail!
UGH! What a fool I was, thinking I could promote myself to these coyotes. I only thought of an influencer name drop, and the wave of tips— I mean, guests that would bring in. With a verbal gallop, I dived into how I make my signature espresso Manhattan, a cocktail that defies the odds...
"The bitters bring everything together, but the drink would be nothing without the infusion..." I can hear the echo of past me now. Tapping my leather-bound bar bible, I had proudly announced that I felt I had perfected my infusion. Why am I surprised that it walked off with my prissy guests? They order a round of them, and then another. It's a damn good cocktail!
The thing is that the bar book is a prop of sorts, a revenge on my boss of 7 years. Another guy I could do without ever talking to again. He bought the bar on my second year of working there, and immediately began doing hotshot things. Mind you, this bar is prime real estate, and the money is MINT. So, I deal with it, right?
Even when dude tells me that the recipes on the menu (which are all mine at this point) are the intellectual property of the bar. Sure they are, my bright-eyed baby boss. Before making this threat he may have wanted to make sure he had the recipes in the first place... which he did not. Enter my Magnum Opus: the bar book. A tome of terrible sips.
Espresso Manhattan Whiskey Infusion
2 cups ground Bustelo
3 bottles Jack Daniels
7 sticks Vanilla
10 dashes black walnut extract
Age for 2-4 weeks
Only a fool could think this would taste good, and indeed my boss had totally missed the fact that we hadn't ordered Jack in months... and apparently Franco had missed the joke too. I laugh again as I think of his presale for: Mixologist Marxxx, delightful drinks 101. The cover photo? A snap of my espresso manhattan, complete with floral garnish. That part pisses me off, the scumbag.
No, Marxxx didn't get any of my real recipes, and he's in for a rude awakening when those books do ship out. Hate to see it... As far as my boss, he flipped when he saw Marxxx was featuring an "identical" cocktail to "his". I was promptly sacked, and I was pretty mad at first, can't lie.
I've had a few days to lick my wounds now, and in some ways I feel this situation was the perfect revenge in itself, both against my boss, and Marxxx. It's been a week, and the bar has dropped a star on google, I guess the batches of my real recipes ran out...
As for me, I'm off to apply for a loan. Those two knuckleheads have given me an insight into the value of my intellectual property!
This is my submission for Cinnamon Cup Coffee's weekly spill the beans prompt! They also have awesome coffee conversations each Thursday!💕
