this bar is your family

So yeah, I'm seeing somebody, and he's crackerjack fantastic. But when I mentioned that I'd been bartending at a place in San Francisco off and on for the past 2 1/2 years, he, being a rather professional grown-uppy man, may or may not have wondered if I was really the right lady for him. You know, he hadn't known me well at all when I first told him this, and I might've been a slutbag sleazaholic drunkass bartender who liked to snort coke remnants off of toilet lids. Anything's possible, yes? Especially in the world of San Francisco bartending.

But then Peter came in on New Year's Eve, and he got to see the radness of the Rickshaw, and how much sweet love the staff has for each other. Such as when Peter and I were kissing in plain sight of the bar, and then I walked back into the kitchen and Corey and CW said "Guess who we are?" and then pretended to make out against the ice machine. Or when Peter would come back up to the bar and CW would just shake his head and start laughing at us. Or when Elly was actually nice to him, even though she's usually very wary of boys who might hurt me.

Peter stayed until the end of the night. He helped Charles move furniture on the stage. He watched us all punch knuckles and give hugs at the end of the night. He heard all about the various nicknames we have for regulars, who we love and who we avoid. He was horrified by how his money was no good at the club, but not so horrified by how he was immediately a friend.

I think he understands now. That this bar is my family. At least one branch of it.