Nightly Bar Man; Blonde and Friends phenomenon

Just completed a Thursday shift, which is joyfully known around town as College night. Relatively subdued compared to previous weeks, perhaps the mid-terms are starting anew. Truth be told that has never been a compelling factor for many SB students to stay in, whether they are of the CC or UC vein. Not when you have multiple establishments vying for your presence, each one offering low cost drinks and a high hook up atmosphere. Yet tonight it was slow, and a little tedious. The crowd seemed to have a good time, but I did not- maybe I am just too overdone to be excited about coeds ordering three $1 whiskey sours and paying with plastic. Whatever the reason, behind the bar it was business as usual- dollar drinks and 50 cent tips, incredulous customers and not enough money- but such is my life right now.
There were few iconic moments throughout the night- it was a subdued, relatively average, crowd- and I felt that the evening would be a large dud on the scale of excitability. Until of course the blonde and her friends came in right before closing. Having bartended and lived in many other areas around California I feel confident in describing the “Blonde and Friends” late night rendezvous as a uniquely Santa Barbaran phenomenon. As the DJ played “My Humps” for what seemed like the 10th time (in reality was probably the first, but that songs ubiquity makes it seem ever-present), this quadrant of intoxicated females made their way through a sparsely populated bar, bumping and grinding their way to the bass lines of Fergie and friends. My eyes, until then transfixed with a blank stare to the thinning masses, immediately caught on. These girls had the look, the party girl, freak show for fun, come hither look. The look that makes it entertaining to be a drink servant.
Sidling up to the bar, it was late- just past last call, the blonde came forward. Leaning over oh so demurely, trying to ensure a final shot for herself and her friends, she began the playful late night banter that is protocol for anyone trying to score a free drink. And why not? Use what you have for what you want. My eyes, until now glazed over by the non descript crowd, perked up and played along. Her friends, sensing the urgent need for a drink, heeded the blonde’s silent call for reinforcement and began dancing and grinding with each other behind her. Though lacking rhythm and succumbing to the affects of alcohol, their youthful exuberance scored points. Yet I slyly had to deny them at first, if only to play along in this game of disingenuous flirtation. The girls, sensing they might leave empty handed with only a less sober Bills Bus ahead, decided to up the ante with a show of faux bisexuality. Of course they did.
The trump card, the “Blonde and Friends” phenomenon, the final straw for a Thursday night. Need a ride home? Make out with a girlfriend. Need a slice of pizza? Make out with a girlfriend? Need a cigarette? Make out with a girlfriend. Need that last drink? Make out with a girlfriend. In a town of open values and free spirit, this accelerated girl to girl affection is rather commonplace. At least for those behind the alcohol soaked bars of State Street. In a rather delicious state of double standards, a few girls playfully sharing a breath will generally commandeer whatever it is that they desire, at least from those of the drink soaked X and Y persuasion.
Seeing the smirk rise on my face, the blonde in charge again pleaded for the last drink- a drink that was forthcoming regardless of her friends’ experimental showcase. Of course dear, and be sure to get back safely. Air kisses abounded, thank yous and what’s your names, and when do you works followed the well vodka and limes. All that was lost on me as they walked out the door and the lights illuminated. I had work to do, it was 1:40 am.