The Scene: Friday night, the 4th of July, college bar, downtown Richmond.
It's about 11 PM and I'm working the bar with one of our high class hookers (a hot female bartender). It's predictably slow due to cook-outs and rain, and I leisurely serve drinks as I wonder if my t-shirt is too tight (I don't like being the bartender who thinks he's all hot and has to show off his muscles). At this moment in walks two servicemen (Army, I think) and they sit in front of me. I pour them two Crown and Cokes. About 20 minutes later one of the guys leans over and motions for me.
Army Guy: When does this place get poppin? Where are the hot women?
Me: Give it 30 more minutes. If it doesn't pick up by midnight then it probably won't pick up. (At this point I pour them two tequila shots and hand them over the bar). On me fellas, happy 4th. (they drink up and grunt thank yous).
The bar starts to fill up although the female talent pool isn't very deep, actually it's non-existant. A group of whales walk in and I look at my Army buddys and say, "I told you they would come. They're your present from me for serving our country". They laugh and they continue to drink.
30 minutes later and the Army guys are now hitting on every decent* looking girl in the bar. At one point they hit on a girl near my area of the bar and the girl says, "I'm with the bartender" and then she points at me. They look over and I give them a faux-staredown (She wasn't "with" me, but lets just say...ummm, lets just not say anything). They laugh and continue their guest for July 4th pussy.
Fast forward to 1:15 AM. I see them macking on two not bad looking girls at the end of the bar. In an effort to "speed up the transaction" and make them look cool, I make a big show of giving them a round of Kamikaze shots, all the while I give them fist pounds and assorted, "you're my boys!".
Fast forward to 2 AM. The lights go up and people start filing out. I see my two guys walking out with the two girls, holding both their hands. One of the army guys gives me the silent finger point and a wink that says, "I'm getting some." I give a smirk and continue counting my money and cleaning the bar. The two servicemen and their assorted slam-pigs leave the bar.
I felt a perverted sense of pride after that. I may not be around the world defending our freedom, but I try to do whatever I can to keep the fighting man happy. Some might call me a "pimp" or a "whorehouse operator". I call myself a patriot.
America, I salute thee.
*Decent is open to interpretation. I mean, I've been with plenty of "decent" girls that I would probably not show the light of day, much less the prying eyes of my friends.