Free Faking Life by Jason Pinter

drinking inside a gigantic neon sign.”
    “It's not bad the way it is, but a little more color couldn't hurt. But I guess you could say that about a lot of things.”
    “A lot more color couldn't hurt. This place is like the black hole of humanity.” He'd meant to be funny, but immediately regretted saying it.
    “So how can you live with yourself, working in such a dreary place?” John's smile faded. He stood up briskly and took a step back. She seemed to notice this and quickly tried to make amends. “I'm sorry,” she stammered. “I was only joking.”
    “I know,” John said. “It's not you it's…I'm sorry.” He smiled again, trying to ease the tension. “John. It's a pleasure to meet you.” She offered her hand, which he accepted graciously.
    “Esther,” she said. “Pleasure's all mine.”
    They shook hands. John was surprised to see she was still grinning. Maybe she genuinely was pleased to meet him.
    “So what do you do, Esther?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “What do I mean? You know, for work. What were you doing before you came to my bar?”
    Esther paused. “You know, I'd rather not talk about it.” John smiled.
    “That bad, huh?” She half nodded.
    “It's just, you know you go out at night to get away from all that stuff. I'm sure we can find something more interesting to talk about.”
    “Suit yourself, but I think my job's fascinating. ” They both laughed.
    “So what're you drinking?' Esther asked.
    “Just water.”
    “Just water? I assumed bartenders sat around drinking all day and stumbled home with dollar bills hanging out of their pants.”
    “You're thinking of strippers. Bartenders hang around all day pretending to get drunk, so the real drunk people don't think they're the only ones having a good time. Oh, and we go home with quarters sticking out of our pants, not dollar bills.” Esther smiled.
    “Sounds like you really love your job,” she said.
    “Hey,” John said. He scratched his ear. “What's not to like?”
    “You tell me.” She took a sip of her drink, waiting for a response. John stayed silent. “So tell me John, how long have you worked here?”
    “Ugh, don't ask. Too long.”
    “Come on, I won't tell anybody.”
    “Promise?” John asked. He felt like he was back in third grade making Lucy Mickleson promise not to tell Ms. Williams he'd eaten paste.
    “Promise,” she said, crossing her heart.
    “Ok. But you're sworn to secrecy. Even if we never see each other again you're not allowed to tell. And you aren't allowed to act surprised either.”
    “What makes you think we'll never see each other again?”
    John smiled and slurped his water until he sucked air from the bottom of the glass. “Let's just say I've been working here long enough to know that customers have, how should I put it, a high turnover rate.”
    “I understand. Now out with it.”
    “Alright,” he said, taking a deep breath. Esther leaned forward. He milked it for a moment then said, “almost seven years.” She gulped her wine but didn't look as surprised as he'd anticipated.
    “Is that all? I thought you were going to say something like fifteen years.”
    “Fifteen years? Do I look that old?” She laughed, a high, easy chuckle that made John want to join in just for the sake of it.
    “I'm fooling with you. Let me guess…you graduated college, took a job here, and haven't looked back. Am I close?” John was mildly disturbed and impressed at the same time.
    “Yeah, you're pretty much right on the money.”
    “So what was your major in college? Philosophy of bartenderism?”
    “You're psychic. Actually, I graduated with a three-nine and I wrote my thesis on the development of lagers in the Tri-State area.” She laughed again. John felt like he could really get used to this. He needed more laughter at the bar. Honest laugher, not the kind guys and girls usually did to b.s. eachother into thinking their lame jokes were witty.
    “Seriously, what did you major