“Alright, that’s all we need. Just come in around Friday at eight and we’ll get you started!”
I walked out of my interview feeling like I was walking on air. Phase One of my very practical revenge plot had fallen perfectly into place. In addition to losing four pounds because I was too upset to eat, I had just gotten hired at one of the many bars in my college town, which meant I would get to wear a cleavage-revealing top, seductively pour drinks, and rake in mass tips from frat guys.
And I got to do it all while make my cheating ex-boyfriend hate himself.
You might be thinking that, as a mature young woman, I was seeking my revenge by becoming the best possible version of myself. After all, I got hotter, got a cool new job, and was contemplating whether or not I should take the plunge and get an ombre (I did, and it was a mistake). But, nope, I wasn’t. Instead, I had gone to the trouble of learning to make drinks properly, faking a resume of impressive bartending experience, and getting the job all because it was my ex-boyfriend’s favorite bar and I wanted to make it so he could never go back.
Am I still seeming like a well balanced, mature adult?
I had pretty much lost all my sanity at this point, and here’s why. The bar in question, which I will now refer to as Skank City and Pub (SC&P), wasn’t the kind of place I normally went. But it was a place my boyfriend loved. I never wanted to go with him, so most nights we would do our own thing for a few hours, then meet up and go home together. I then found out that in addition to tapping my hot ass every Thursday, Friday and Saturday, he would roll up to the SC&P and pick up the girls who made up the Monday to Wednesday crowd.
I was furious. I didn’t even wait for his excuses, or see if he’d be willing to grovel enough to get me a new Kate Spade bag. I didn’t want apologies. I wanted a full on, Blair Waldorf-style public shaming. And I was gonna fucking get it.
After working there for a few weeks, I figured out my next move. I had heard through the grape view that my ex was striking out all around town, which was perfect for me. When guys go through a breakup, they’re happy until they realize they have just lost guaranteed-because-of-your-relationship sex. After a few drunken calls telling me how hot I was and how much of a mistake he had made, I was ready for Phase Two.
After casually staging a few run-ins between one of my sisters and his best friend, she suggested that if he wanted to get more acquainted, he should come to SC&P on the night of my shift. Since guys are idiots who think with their dicks and can’t put two and two together, the best friend and my ex arrived, and there I was, standing oh-so-causally behind the bar. I like to think my presence was felt as soon as he entered the room. I want to say it was an electric pull that made him come waltzing up as if my being there was a twist of fate and not a regularly scheduled shift. It was because of what we had that made him approach me, not because he was at a bar and wanted a drink.
“Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.” He slurred at me. He had pregamed before coming, I could tell. He ordered a cheap beer, the typical disgusting cheating ex drink.
“Yeah, I work here,” I said, pushing the beer toward him, focusing on cleaning glasses and smiling at a cute guy across the room.
“You know…” he slurred, sipping his drink. “I’ve been thinking, we should, like, hang out or something. Just to catch up.”
“I just don’t think that’d be a good idea. I’m trying to move on, ya know?” I baited, shooting the guy across the bar a very meaningful gaze and sighing. “And find someone who isn’t a dick to me.”
It all worked much better than I could have hoped. My ex followed my gaze and downed his beer. He slammed the empty glass onto the counter, cracking it a little. I could literally see his blood pressure rising as he stormed over to the poor, unsuspecting guy across the room. In seconds, my ex was holding this stranger in a headlock, shouting about how he would stay the fuck away from me if he didn’t want to get his ass handed to me.
Skank City and Pub may not be the classiest establishment, but it has a strict “no fighting in the bar” policy, so my manager was on my ex in seconds, ripping him off the poor guy and hauling him into the office. He snapped a quick Polaroid, wrote down my ex’s name, and escorted him from the bar.
My manager walked up to me and handed me the photo.
“Hang this up, I don’t want to see his sorry ass in here ever again. He’s banned.”
As I tacked the photo to the extremely sticky wall, I felt the best and calmest I had in months. I had a great job, I looked amazing, and I could fuck whoever I wanted. But it was more than that. It was like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I didn’t feel the need to cry every ten minutes. I felt normal. I guess the saying is true.
Revenge is a dish best served cold and in a beer stein..
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