Wednesday, 17 October 2012

The Biblical Bartender

Hey Zeus, the days are flying by. I can't believe tomorrow is Thursday- I need to blog about last weekend now because the next weekend will soon be upon us...

Thursday was Olivia's fancy media shindig. There was an open bar and mini quiches. Pure snazz. It was actually a party for bloggers- the media company negotiates advertising for fashion and beauty blogs. I hadn't really given this much thought until I arrived and Olivia said:

"It's a party for bloggers, why don't you network and smooze?"

So, did I stride into the party, my head held high and full of interesting facts about myself with which to beguile and enchant potential new connections in the blogging community?

Obviously not- I went into a massive sulk, shrinking into the shadows with a mini quiche and a free glass of champagne.

If there's one thing that makes me freeze up, it's people trying to encourage me. Don't encourage me World, just leave me alone to fester in the dark recesses of failure. And pass me another glass of free alcohol.

I did get talking to two very drunken party-goers, one of whom had a handlebar moustache and claimed his name was 'Dragon'. Olivia told me that 'Dragon' and his friend weren't even bloggers, they were just barmen on their night off who had come into work because they'd heard there was going to be an open bar.

At first we (as in me, Cece and Olivia; not me, Dragon, his moustache and his friend) hung around the bar, talking to people from Olivia's work and taking advantage of the free drinks. Then we moved into the back room to chat to Olivia's boss who is really lovely (she said I should go round to her house and she'll cook me dinner) and a fab English woman called Claire, who said it has taken her eleven years to become fluent in French, which is kind of devastating but not surprising if you think I've been here for over two years and I still don't know the French alphabet properly...

A highlight of the night was catching Cece sat at the bar, on his own, stuffing mini quiches into his mouth, after claiming he was going for a fag. He genuinely looked mortified when I told him I had witnessed his secret quiche binge.

Actually, I also spent quite a lot of time at the bar, on my own and not just because I was ordering champagne and mojitos for everyone...

The bartender was Fit and for once, it wasn't my beer goggles distorting my vision; I thought he was good-looking as soon as I walked in, before all the alcohol clouded my judgement. Every time he poured me a drink we made eye contact and smiled at each other and yes, sadly that is my idea of flirting. If you've ever wondered why I'm perpetually single, now you know- my idea of 'flirting outrageously' is to make eye contact and give a slight smile, and then maybe if they return the smile I will ask in a slightly annoyed voice: "Do you want to have sex me, or not?"

Works every time...


But I am going to get a lot of cats and although I don't have any hobbies at the moment, I'm pretty sure I could get really into doll houses.

At the end of the night there was only me, Olivia, Claire and the boss left in the backroom (there were a few bloggers on the dance floor and Olivia's boss couldn't leave until all the bloggers had).  We'd had a lot of shots and I started to voice my opinions about the bartender. Olivia came with me to the bar and asked his name for me because I'm 'timide'. (I know, you don't have to tell me how embarrassing this is.) Guess what his name is? Actually, don't even bother, you'll never guess: his name was Samson.

I was going to use a fake name just because it makes me feel like a Top Secret Important Blogger, but it's too good a name to disguise. Also, I can't tell you why (because then you will guess my name) but it is loosely related to my name... It was Fate.

Olivia and Claire kept sending me to the bar for more shots in the hope that a witty and sexually-charged conversation would strike up between me and Samson the Biblical Bartender. Erm, it didn't, but I did start chatting to the girl bartender. She told me I have a strong accent when I speak French. Humph.

Soon the last of the bloggers had staggered home and it was time to leave. Olivia and Claire said that I HAD to give Biblical Bartender my number. I've never done that, ever. But they made me, they made me do it. In the end, I figured I'd never see him again anyway and the thrill of doing something Bold and Forward might even boost my confidence.

I leant against the bar and asked him if he had a pen and paper. As he got it for me, the female bartender came back and started chatting to me in English. Samson kind of joined in and so he didn't notice what I was writing until I passed him the folded up piece of paper. As I chatted to the other bartender, I could see him out of the corner of my eye, opening up the paper. A look of surprise flashed across his face.


We left quickly, me and Olivia scrabbling into a taxi outside the bar. I didn't tell Olivia, but I'd managed to get the last goodie bag and I hid it under my coat for the entire journey home, because I wanted to keep it all for myself...

I'm despicable.

My phone beeped when we were a couple of streets away from mine. It was a text:

Yo it's Samson the bartender where are you now?
I want you

Now, I know 'I want you' seems a bit cringe in the sober light of day (also, Cece pointed out that as it didn't have a full stop, maybe he had pressed 'send' before finishing the text, maybe it was meant to say 'I want you... to never come in my bar again') but, bloody hell, after eight glasses of champagne, two mojitos and who knows how many shots, I thought it was the greatest text I'd ever received... I gave my number to somebody I fancy and he 'wants' me- victory.

"LOOK OLIVIAAA! Look wharr he sent me the fit bartender!"

We drunkenly composed a reply, in a confused jumble of French and English, something along the lines of:

I'm at home now, but tomorrow the friend I was with tonight is having a party, in the Marais, you should come.

It was all lies of course, but we were spectacularly plastered and decided that we would have a party in Cece's apartment, and he wouldn't mind because it would all be in aid of me Getting With Biblical Bartender.

Now I must be off to bed, but I will finish this story tomorrow and tell you what happened with Biblical Bartender.


  1. See, flirting pays off! I'm all a-twitter to know what happened with Biblical Bartender (slash a little bit drunk, but I'm sure I'll still be interested tomorrow/today/whenever you post the next installment).

    1. Well don't be drunk tomorrow because when I post what happened next I might need your advice on what to do next!

    2. I'm sorry, I think I was drunk again and possibly contributed to you missing your window (if indeed you did) :( I'm not drunk all the time, by the way, but anyway I feel this blog is a safe space and you don't judge drunky drunkersons...

  2. oh can't wait to see what happened!

    I only ever gave my number to a guy once. He was my waiter at an Italian restaurant (in Canada, not France). He called me that same night (should have been clue #1 something was off), and we ended up "dating" for almost a year. I put "dating" in quotes because half of our time together was me staying with him so he could pay me back the money he stole from me. Long story, anyway, never gave another guy my number unless he gave me his first.

    (It's Crystal)

    1. Whaaaat? Why did he steal money from you?? Well I'll make sure to never lend Biblical Bartender any money. Hmm it does feel risky, giving your number to people, but it's not fair, is it? Why should girls have to wait for boys to make all the moves? It just feels a bit desperate, doesn't it?

  3. I slept with a guy called Dragon once, if it is the same one, definitely avoid him and go for the Biblical Bartender.

    A Massive Fan (& Garcon Au-pair)

    1. Hmm if only Biblical Bartender would go for me... If Dragon had a handlebar moustache it is definitely the same one!