A group of guys celebrating someone’s birthday come away from the bar with drinks and shots, but a disappointed air surrounds them as they all pat the birthday boy on the shoulder. He must have been rejected. I feel your pain, bro. Every so often the female bartenders switch sides, so that each of them moves to work the opposite section they’ve been on. I don’t know the reasoning, but I can’t help but note that each time Olivia switches to work a new area, the guys up next in line that she leaves behind, groan with frustration.
