“Give you an example: a pregnant lady came in here two weeks ago, was at least seven months pregnant –”

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah because she was tall and she was skinny and she had like this perfect fucking orb sort of — like she was skin and bone everywhere but for her stomach. And she walked like she was pregnant. She comes in with her husband, her boyfriend or whatever, and she orders a shot of whisky.”

“What’d you do?”

Shrug. “Can’t say no.”

“You served whiskey to a pregnant woman?”

“It’s her body. Not my place. What happened, though, is she threw the one back, the first one, and then she ordered another, drank it, and then she wanted a beer. And at that point I was like, ‘Ma’am…'”

“You cut her off?”

“Yeah but then the guy she was with tried to get in my face like, ‘The fuck you not gonna serve her for?'”