Last night was one of those nights; the slow ones. The nights where time nearly stops and the clock has only moved two minutes since the last time you looked. Normally, it’s BAM six more hours to work; BAM four more; BAM one and a half; BAM done. But last night was like punching in and out on a calendar based on a sundial. It was Hell. Yes, of course I was hung-over but it was a different equation than that; hangovers have a time-space continuum of their own. This was just a slow fucking day. The kind of day that makes you appreciate stupid questions, light beer drinkers, and yes even frozen drinks. The kind of day that makes you absolve the tourists and actually miss the damned regulars you bitch about. It was also a day of low tips but it was more than that too. It was a day in which I was reminded that bartending is at least partly those on the other side of the bar. Don’t worry, I get this way for a day or two and then some bum shits on the bathroom floor and I’m back to my old self.