Good girls and good bars sometimes get a little dirty

“I can’t do that,” said the woman in the corner booth loud enough for everyone in the little bar to hear. “I’m a good girl.”

The two men in front of me chuckled, and the two women with them shook their heads.

I have learned that people are what they do, not what they say they do. Hard workers don’t tell you how hard they work, the work speaks for itself. Consequently, the person who says that he is “doing everything” often isn’t doing anything at all.

So if your shirt is unbuttoned to the waist in a darkened bar booth on a weekday night, and another person is vigorously warming his hands within it, you can say what you want to, but the reality kind of speaks for itself.

But let’s not start at the beginning; instead let’s start this story at the end.

“How she walked in those heels I don’t know,” the valet said. Shoes like hers aren’t really made for vertical behaviors. But then again she wasn’t really walking; it was more like stumbling while using her date for support. He was so supportive that the two of them stopped for a minute and then made out vigorously before she pulled away.

“What about my breath?” she asked self-consciously.

“Don’t worry about it,” her date said, wiping her lips with his hand.

She plopped her purse on the ground and then sat down on the pavement herself, having to turn awkwardly sideways because pants that tight won’t actually let the knees bend. Rifling through her purse looking for her car keys, her super low-rise jeans left little to the imagination. Imagining is not really necessary when everything is right there, including choices in both hairstyle and undergarments, or the lack of either.

“So you are OK?” asked her date. As if there was some planet on which a person in that condition would be able to drive home.

If there ever was a sure thing, this was it. And this guy was doing everything he could to get away from it. It didn’t make sense. But sense or not, she was not going to drive. Thank goodness for Uber. And for attentive valets.

“All right, have a good night. I’ll call you,” he said before leaving the valet to load her into the car.

Inside, the busboy discovered that those noises involved a locked stall, some crying, a rhythmic banging, all followed by more crying.

The busboy wisely decided to wait outside.

Eventually the water ran and then there was a sound that like a small dog’s muffled barking.

Then both the man and his date exited the women’s room.

“Do you have any mints?” the good girl asked the waiting busboy.

The busboy shook his head.

She leaned heavily on her date’s arm, and then they made out briefly before finally heading out the front door.

When the busboy entered the bathroom he discovered that those muffled noises had been her vomiting into the sink, a situation that made the end of the busboy’s night quite memorable, if not enjoyable.

“I hear you honey,” the woman said loudly into her phone. “Do you want me to come get you?”

Meanwhile her date’s hands were busy under the table. Thank goodness for darkness and corners.

“Mommy’s a little busy right now,” she said pushing her date’s hands away.

“I told you, I’m a good girl,” she slurred to her date.

“I just need to get that signed credit card slip,” the waitress said, standing before the table and witnessing the whole thing.

The woman waved her hands at the waitress.

“I’ll be home in just a little while,” she said into the phone.

She then looked at the phone awkwardly before shrugging her shoulders and putting her phone away.

The man signed the credit card slip and then whispered something in his date’s ear.

“Fine,” she said. “But I go first.”

Which has left me with these thoughts:

• Even the classiest place in town gets a little dirty once in a while.

• I’m not sure what her definition of a “good girl” is, but I’d sure love to hear it.

• Bad boys can often just be despicable.

• Busboys always get stuck cleaning up the mess.

• It ain’t called hump day for nothing.