Drink Etiquette

I'm a fan of sociology.  It's not my first academic love (criminal justice), but I can't help but watch people.  It's probably my favorite thing in the world.  My most recent foray of my informal study of sociology is bar sociology.  Basically, it's the face to face intimate actions and reactions of drunkards, skanks, and douche bags.

My friends and I visited a few bars this past Saturday night.  One of the bars we visited (let's just call it The Bar that has Shitty Wait-staff) was absolutely packed.  It's the type of bar that has the meat heads with goatees at the door asking for your ID and a $3 cover charge, loud shitty music, and a dance floor just waiting to be filled with Long Island Iced Tea induced upchuck.  

We get into the bar and walk through a sea of swaying bodies.  I ask my friend what she wants to drink, and I squeeze into an open space at the bar.  I get my money ready and hold it in my hand on the bar and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  I was under the impression that the bartender always knows when someone needs a drink, but I'm pretty sure this lady just made a hobby of running back and forth from one end of the bar to another.  As I was sitting there waiting to get our drinks, I noticed this girl flirtatiously dancing with a guy.  The girl must have been shnockered beyond belief, because this guy was really gay.  You didn't even need gaydar to see the aura of sodomy around this fellow.  I feel as if I describe anymore, then I might start looking at men differently.  Let's just say he was wrist-breakingly gay.  But she wouldn't stop flirting with him.  Placing his hands on her ass, pulling his head down to her neck, all the "Wanna go back to my place?" motions, but the gay man didn't have the heart to tell her.  I was amused, yet terrified.  It was going to be a good night for bar sociology.

Then I noticed this girl next to me.  She was anywhere from 21-24 years old, but a typical bar fly -- tight outfit, heels, and a pleasant perfume.  Standing by herself, waiting for her prey.  Don't get me wrong, she was cute.  

She looks at me with liquored eyes and, over the sound of some onomatopoeia named guy that goes by Chingy, asks, "What do you need, honey?"

"Two Bud Lights."

She smiles at me and sticks out three fingers at the bartender.  Amazingly the bartender notices her and the bar fly says to her, "Three Bud Lights."

I thought to myself, "Okay, whatever... Perhaps I'm in some bar that has some dumb ass protocol for buying drinks.  Wait.  THREE?!  I said two.  "Two" doesn't sound like "three" at all -- not even in French.  Maybe she just needs a drink too."

Oh, pity me.

The bartender walks back and sets three Bud Lights on the bar.  The bar fly looks at me and smiles.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't there a verbal agreement before a man buys a woman a drink?  This crazy bitch just volunteered me to buy a drink for her.  As if I'm running the charity arm of the Anheuser-Busch Companies.

If she were a friend of mine, or even a mutual acquaintance, I would have been more than happy to get this girl all liquored up so I could take her into a corner and nibble on her neckline.  But no.  Fuck no!  You can't do that shit to me and get away with it.  She wanted to fuck with me, so I fucked right back.

I asked the bartender for the price of two drinks.  Almost instantaneously the fly scoffed and grabbed her fake Coach purse and left.

Me: 1

Barfly: 0