Hey, nobody's shooting at me

(Disclaimer...Didn't make the world limit. Even close. Sue me.)

I saw this kid every day. Blonde hair, cut short. Not quite a buzz cut, but darn close. Always wore a Quicksilver t-shirt. Ordered the same thing every time.

“Bud light. One shot of Wild Turkey.”

He’d drink it, then walk over to whatever woman might be in the place. Big. Little. Short. Tall. Fat. Skinny. White. Black. Well-dressed. Wearing biker shorts. It didn’t matter to this kid.

Every time, he’d go up, say something then smile. The woman would shake her head. Or simply say no.

How’d I know all this? I’m the barkeep, Joe.

“Joe, give me a Bud Light. One shot of Wild Turkey,” the kid said after his latest answer of no from a lady. “Actually, make that a double.”

I opened the bottles and poured the shots. Three of ‘em. One for me.

“Here’s to ya kid. You’ve got heart,” I said.

“Why do you say that Joe?” he queried.

“Every single day you do a shot, drink a beer and then go talk to a woman. I have no idea what you say to them. What you ask of them or just ask them. But every time, they say no. Usually very politely, but it’s always a no. And no matter what, you always go back for more.

“That to me says you got heart.”

“Really? You think talking to a woman means I got heart?”

“Certainly.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you get shot down every time. But you keep going back.”

“I’m not getting shot down. They’re just answering the question. And so far, it’s always been no.”

“Well, shit. Tell me this question, Mitchell.”

“Nah. That would spoil it. One day, one of them is going to say yes.”

“I used to think that way.”

“Why don’t you anymore?”

“Too many of them said yes.”

“I’ll drink to that!”

I poured out two more shots. We raised glasses and shot ‘em down.

“Well, Mitchell, if it ain’t heart you got, it’s persistence.”

“My Sergeant used to say the same damn thing,” Mitchell said with a sigh.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Then he’d send me out to be the sniper. You see, I was my unit’s crack shot.”

“Damn. I guess all this talking to strange women ain’t so hard then?”

“It’s hard, for sure. But hey, nobody’s shooting at me,” he said.

We laughed for a second. Mitchell got up, went to the jukebox. Plopped in a quarter, clicked some buttons and walked back to the bar. By the time he was comfy on his stool, the song started playing.

“I’ve Been Hurt” by Bill Deal.

“One Bud Light. Shot of Wild Turkey, Joe.”