She’s very inebriated, so she stumbles to the bartender.
‟I will have a whiskey schlour!” she slurs ‟I can’t serve you ma’am, you’ve had too much.”
The barkeep informs her. Looking disgruntled, she walks out the front door.
A few minutes later she walks in through the side entrance.
‟Barkeep, give me Gin and Ginger.” she hiccups.
‟As I told you before, I can’t serve you, would you like me to get you a cab?”
The bartender says patiently. Looking quizzically at the bartender, she shakes his head and stumbles out.
A few minutes later she walks in the front door again.
‟Give me Blue Motorcycle!” she demands.
‟Look ma’am” the bartender says sternly, having lost his patience,
“if you do not let me call you a cab, I’m going to have to call the police.”
She peers at him with red, blurry eyes and mumbles,
“How many friggin’ bars do you work at?”