The Staff Lounge was what youu'd expect of a business sector watering hole on the edge of the skyscraper sector of the coastal metropolis. Uptown vibe, privileged clientele, excellent reputation for libations, well-crafed food and highly competent staff, it proved to be a magnet for business lunches, after hours martinis, a chillworthy place for a meet-up or first date, and on the weekends, with top notch DJ talent, a top draw as a dancing venue.
As barkeep for the Friday night 8-3 shift, Mitch had a wide degree of responsibility for the businness of the place. Making sure the servers get to all the tables regularly, monitoring the attentiveness of the assistant barkeep, keeping an eye out for trouble, cutting off the obvious drunkards. Never a dull moment.
Tonight was no different. During a breather in the action with not a barstool vacant, a full dance floor, and the servers weaving to and from the tables like a finely orchestrated ballet, Gia returned from the bachelorette party just off the dance floor. That group had warranted my attention for much of the past hour as the jello shots (yes....jello shots) went out to them by the trayful with regularity.
Mitch winked at Gia and her cleavage as she bent her diminuitive self over the bar to get his attention. "The bride to be wants to do the Last Fandango Dance. I told her it would be up to you since your bar is at capacity up here. What do you say?"
Ah,, the last Fandango, a rrelatively obscure tradition for the establishment, begun prror to Mitch's arrival at the Staff Lounge. A bride-to-be would mount the main bar, while her musical selection would play, and she would entertain the crowd. When the tradition started, the ZZtop song was a frequent choice for accomaniement, but given the changing times, much more contemporary music often was used. The dancing was sometimes pedestrian,. other times, the bride to be put on a clinic.
Mitch mulled the proposition over, and told Gia to send the young lady up to make her reqiest in person. He couldn't be bothered to leave the bar.
He ran his fingers through his close-cropped light brown hair, rubbed the stubble on his jaw, and leaned his 6-4 frame against the rack of flavored vodkas as Veronica tended the clientelle at the bar.
As barkeep for the Friday night 8-3 shift, Mitch had a wide degree of responsibility for the businness of the place. Making sure the servers get to all the tables regularly, monitoring the attentiveness of the assistant barkeep, keeping an eye out for trouble, cutting off the obvious drunkards. Never a dull moment.
Tonight was no different. During a breather in the action with not a barstool vacant, a full dance floor, and the servers weaving to and from the tables like a finely orchestrated ballet, Gia returned from the bachelorette party just off the dance floor. That group had warranted my attention for much of the past hour as the jello shots (yes....jello shots) went out to them by the trayful with regularity.
Mitch winked at Gia and her cleavage as she bent her diminuitive self over the bar to get his attention. "The bride to be wants to do the Last Fandango Dance. I told her it would be up to you since your bar is at capacity up here. What do you say?"
Ah,, the last Fandango, a rrelatively obscure tradition for the establishment, begun prror to Mitch's arrival at the Staff Lounge. A bride-to-be would mount the main bar, while her musical selection would play, and she would entertain the crowd. When the tradition started, the ZZtop song was a frequent choice for accomaniement, but given the changing times, much more contemporary music often was used. The dancing was sometimes pedestrian,. other times, the bride to be put on a clinic.
Mitch mulled the proposition over, and told Gia to send the young lady up to make her reqiest in person. He couldn't be bothered to leave the bar.
He ran his fingers through his close-cropped light brown hair, rubbed the stubble on his jaw, and leaned his 6-4 frame against the rack of flavored vodkas as Veronica tended the clientelle at the bar.
