Molly Works At A Bar in Madrid

The following is lifted from ofgeography.tumblr.com

when i lived in spain, i worked as a “bartender” in madrid. i put “bartender” in quotation marks because my boss fernando trusted me with literally nothing but cleaning glasses and occasionally a CLOSELY SUPERVISED mojito. the bar was called “la chocita sueca,” which basically means “the swedish hut,” but can also, as far as i can tell, mean something VERY DIFFERENT and vERY RUDE.

this led to a lot of general confusion from the patrons, who were always wondering whether i (the only super, super white person) was The Swede.

"THIS BAR IS NOT NAMED AFTER ME," i would shout, trying to be heard above the music and the huge portrait of elvis that hung behind the bar. "I AM LITERALLY JUST HERE TO WASH DISHES AND MAKE TERRIBLE MOJITOS."

"OK BUT ARE YOU SWEDISH?" they would ask me. "LIKE ARE YOU SWEDISH, THOUGH?"

"nO."

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"VERY SURE."

"YOU LOOK SWEDISH."

"I UNDERSTAND, BUT I AM NOT SWEDISH."

"NOT EVEN A LITTLE SWEDISH?"

"NOT EVEN A LITTLE SWEDISH. AS I HAVE SAID."

“BUT YOUR EYES ARE VERY BLUE?”

"I AM NOT FUCKING SWEDISH!!!!!!!!"

at which point fernando would sweep in and say soothingly, “shhh, it’s okay. why don’t you go wipe down the vomit on the bar??” rinse. rather. repeat.

anyway, on weeknights when the bar wasn’t busy, fernando always let me come in and talk to him and learn how to make drinks. as someone who hates hard liquor, i was very bad at it. my entire repertoire is a mimosa and a tequila sunrise. in my defense, fernando was aware of this going in. the entire hiring process went:

ME: can i work here?

FERNANDO: do you know how to make alcoholic beverages in exchange for money?

ME: no.

FERNANDO: come on wednesday.

so one day, my roommate bryan takes me out for a delicious fancy dinner, along with his little brother and his little brothers three friends, who were all visiting and sleeping on our floor. on the walk home i noticed that we were going to pass by la chocita (which was about a 5 minute walk from my house). so i separated from bryan and the boys to drop in and say hello to my old friend fernando.

it’s a tuesday at 9:30p.m. so the bar was naturally empty, and fernando was just chillin’ with the elvis picture and the human-sized statue of liberty replica.

"maya!!" he said. he called me maya, as did most of my friends in madrid, because it was easier and because i hate the way "molly" sounds when it is breaking up a spanish sentence. "molly" in any language that isn’t english literally sounds like a fart on a first date.

"molly" when said in an english sentence: what a cute, rosy-cheeked young lady, probably looking to cuddle a dog and have a good laugh!!

"molly" when said in literally any other language: WHAT IS THIS GROSS PIECE OF WOOD IN MY MOUTH?? IT TASTES OF TODDLERS AND THE ASHES OF YOUTHFUL DREAMS.

so in i pop, and there is fernando, who immediately sets to telling me all about his son and how handsome he is and how he’s about my age and fernando’s not saying anything but he’s JUST SAYING—

"here, have some of this," fernando said, and handed me a glass of kalimotxo.

WHAT IS KALIMOTXO, you ask? PRETTY EASY:

1. get some cheap-ass wine, like hella cheap, like the CHEAPEST WINE YOU CAN FIND, PROBABLY IN A BOX, PROBABLY CALLED “CHEAP CHEAP CHEAP WINE FOR POOR COLLEGE STUDENTS.”

2. get some diet coke.

3. get some ice

4. combine.

5. “WHAT IS HAPPENING????” - your body, horrified and delighted.

"idk, fernando," i said. "it’s a tuesday? i have class tomorrow?"

"WHO EVER GOT DRUNK ON A LITTLE KALIMOXTO," fernando said.

i took the drink.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING????" - my body, horrified and delighted.

"try this, too," fernando told me after a moment, pushing a bright green glass in my direction. "it’s new. i’m trying it out."

"idk, fernando," i said. "it’s a tuesday? i have class tomorrow?"

"WHO EVER GOT DRUNK ON A LITTLE BRIGHT GREEN BOOZE?" fernando said.

i took the drink.

"THIS IS DANCING A SAMBA IN MY MOUTH!!" - my actual words to my actual boss.

"wait wait, try this one," fernando added, now pushing a tiny shot glass toward me with gold-colored liquid and sugar at the bottom.

"idk, fernando," i said. "it’s a tuesday? my lips are tingly?"

"WHO EVER GOT TINGLY LIPS FROM A LITTLE GOLD-COLORED LIQUID WITH SUGAR AT THE BOTTOM?" fernando said.

i took the drink.

"it tastes like i already regret it!!!" - me, giving the statue of liberty replica a kiss.

"I FUCKING LOVE YOUR BAR NUTS," i said. "THEY’RE THE BEST BAR NUTS I HAVE EVER HAD. CAN I HAVE A POUND OF THEM?"

"okay," fernando said, and handed me a bag of bar nuts as big as my torso. it was very heavy. it was a tuesday at about 11p.m. and i opened the bag, dipped my hand in, and shoved a whole handful into my mouth.

IN MY DEFENSE: these were the best bar nuts in the world. i stand by that.

"you should go home," fernando told me, looking suddenly doubtful. "you have class on wednesday."

"WHO EVER HEARD OF CLASS ON A WEDNESDAY?" i said. "GIVE ME SOME MORE OF THE TINGLY LIPS STUFF." it was probably hard to hear me around the bar nuts.

fernando, now very alarmed, called me a taxi. i should remind you that my apartment was a five minute walk from the bar, but with my hands full of a full 3-lb bag of bar nuts that i refused to give back and a my fist closed tightly around the neck of a bottle of tinto de verano, there was really no way i was going to make it that far.

"where to?" the taxista asked. i gave him my address. he blinked at me. "that’s… right there," he said, and pointed.

"yes," i agreed, taking another mouthful of bar nuts.

"we can see it," the taxista said.

"yes," i agreed again. "would you like some bar nuts?"

"….no," the taxista said, and pulled forward toward my apartment, glancing nervously back at the chipmonked motherfucker doublefisting bar nuts and dessert wine in the back of his cab on a tuesday.

"DID YOU KNOW," i said, "I AM NOT AT ALL SWEDISH?"

"okay," the taxista said. "we’re here."

i don’t remember what happened after that, but in the morning i woke up to the following three surprises:

the tinto de verano was nowhere to be found. nowhere. did i give it to the taxista???? did i leave it on the stairs???? HAD THERE EVER BEEN A BOTTLE AT ALL???? WHO PUT SEVEN LEMONS IN MY FRIDGE?

i was wearing socks on my hands.

i woke up to bryan’s brother and his three friends asking loudly, “why the hell are there nuts everywhere?”

"NO REASON," i said.

(The photo is unrelated, I just wanted an image for Bloglovin's thumbs)