When a guy snapped at me to hurry, I shorted his vodka and told him I’d water down his drinks until he learned some manners. An old man leered at my boobs and asked if I could add something special to his drink, so I poured an ounce of bourbon and filled the rest of the highball glass with grenadine syrup. “Sweet,” I said with an overly girlish smile. “Just like me.” He scoffed at the glass. “Give me a real drink.” “You got what you asked for.” “But—” “Next!” He left the pink atrocity on the bar and stalked back to his table.
