He stood on the other side of the bar, mixing a drink for one of the other patrons sitting beside me. “How’s your night going,” he asked, rubbing a lemon wedge over the rim of the glass. On the left side of his t-shirt was a surf logo, one I didn’t recognize. The back of the shirt, I saw when he turned to grab a few different bottles from the top shelf, looked like a Jimmy Buffet scene, complete with a parrot, palm trees, a white sand shoreline, and a few surfboards propped up on the left side of the artwork. The colors struck me, as did the whiteness of the shirt.

“Not too bad,” I replied. “Busy. New company and many things requiring my attention, but, all in all, it was a good day.”

“New company? Congratulations. What are you drinking? The first one’s on me.” He poured several different liquors into the glass, now full of ice. Wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, he asked me, “What’ll you have?”

It wasn’t a huge place, but it was clean. The establishment was highly recommended because of the bartender, Jerry. He wasn’t the most attractive man, but his arms were muscled. Like Jason Momoa or Dwayne Johnson, the right girl would be all over him. If I had to guess, he was a surfer. Or at least he was. Not much surfing in Portland, Oregon.

“Grey Goose, double, neat. And can I get an ice water?”

“Yeah, but it’s four bucks for the water.” Jerry winked at me, smiling.

“Oh? That’s a joke?”

“Usually. Yeah,” Jerry grinned. “I didn’t blow the punchline now, did I?”

“Nope. I’m just tired.”

Jerry laughed. “Yeah, I get that. Name’s Jerry,” he said, sticking out his hand. His grip was firm.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Scott. Scott Harris.”

“Mr. Harris, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Have we met?” I asked, puzzled as to how he knew me.

“No, we haven’t. Not yet. But I hear good things about you, what you do for others, and how it’s all genuine, not faked. I like real people. You, my good sir, are real people. I ought to know. I’ve seen too many who aren’t. Standing here? You see all kinds. But the only ones allowed in here, in my establishment? They are real.”

“Right. And how, exactly, do you do that?”
               “Do what?”
               “Do what? Make sure they are real.”

Jerry smiled. “That’s easy. You ask.”

I thought about that for a minute, letting him work. He responded to my question before I asked. “You ask them to help.”

“Help with what exactly?”

“Cleaning up here.”

I blinked a few times, digesting what he said. “Help here. Like, wash dishes?”

“If they need doing, yeah.”

“How many people take you up on that?”

“Every single one. Speaking of which,” Jerry came around the bar with a broom and a dustpan. “I need help getting the floors swept. It shouldn’t take long. I believe you’ll have some help in a minute or two.” He handed the broom to me. “All good?”

I took the broom from him, smiling. “Yeah. Happy to help.” I jumped up, took one last sip of my drink, and got to work. He was right. It didn’t take five minutes to sweep. I brought the broom and dustpan back to him. “Here you go, Jerry.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate the help.”

I sat back in my seat. “Are you the only person working?”

He smiled. “Besides you?”

“Yeah. Besides me. Do you have any staff?”

“I’m afraid it’s only me.”

“And this works?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, I do make a profit here. Even when it looks like I’m slammed, which is a rarity.”

“With one bartender? How?”

“Help,” he answered. “Everyone comes in to help. And the best part is, they all get something out of it.”

“Which is?”

“Tell me, Scott. How do you feel right now?”

“I feel good.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I helped?”

Jerry laughed, “Yeah. And you know something? I love making people feel good. They come back because I let them help out. They know that the reason this place makes other people feel good is because they helped me. And it stays nice and clean. Plus, everyone who comes in is real.”

I sipped my vodka. “You know, that makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah. And I love what I do, just like you will love what you do. And why is that, Scott?”

“Because I’m taking the time out of my day to help someone.”

“Correct. If you’ll excuse me, I have someone else to help.” He walked to the other end of the bar where two college-age girls stood. “Hello there, girls. What can I get you?”

Both looked like fish out of water, eyes bulging out of their heads, faces beat red. “Can we get two Bud lights?”

Jerry looked at the two of them. “I’m happy to get those for you, but first,” he leaned over the bar, “I need to see some identification, please.”

Both of them started shaking from nerves, not the cold. “We left our IDs in the dorm.”

“Uh-huh.” Jerry stood up, sliding his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “No ID. No beer, ladies. I’m sorry,” he shrugged. One girl started digging around in her purse, the other one whispering for her to stop. “Girls, I’m not trying to be a jerk here, but if you don’t have ID, I need you to leave, okay?”

“No. I got mine in here,” said the girl, digging around in her purse. “I promise. It’s here.” Her BFF glared at her. “We need to go, Annie.”  

“I got mine,” Annie said, pulling out an Oregon driver’s license. “See? I’m twenty-one,” she said, handing it to Jerry. “Let me see,” Jerry leaned over and took it from her, pulling his readers out of his apron. “2002. And let’s see, it’s,” he turned around to glance at a calendar on the wall that read June 2023, “It’s June. So you must be born on June 21, 2002, to be legal.” He read the date of birth on her ID. “June 20, 2002. And you’ve never had a drink before, have you?”

Her face reddened. “No, sir.”

“Annie, we need to go.”

“Not before I have one drink. I would like a Bud Light, please.”

“Sure. What about your friend?”

“What about me,” she hissed at him.

“Uh, well. You need to leave.” Jerry pointed at the door. At the end of the bar, two plain clothes detectives finished their drinks. Overhearing Jerry, they stood up and walked over to the girls. “Thanks again, Jerry,” they said, making a point of flashing both the badges clipped to their belts and the guns slung in their holsters under their sports coats. The BFF grabbed Annie’s arm, “Come on! Let’s get out of here.”

“No. I’m staying, Sara.”

“Problem, Jerry?” one of the two men asked, standing over Sara.

“No. She was on her way out to get her ID. But she’s coming back, right Sara?”

“Ugh!” she blurted out, stomping out the door.

“Children,” Annie said, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” Jerry laughed. “Sure. Here you are, Annie.”

“Thank you.” She held the beer to her lips and leaned the bottle back. Jerry counted to three before she put the bottle back on the bar. The Bud Light was half empty. Not her first beer.

“Gentlemen, have a fantastic afternoon. Thank you for stopping in,” Jerry waved at both officers.

“Take care, Jerry.”

“So, Annie. I have to ask. Why’d you ditch your BFF like that?”

“She’s so not my BFF.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen too many sorority girls come in here. Did she think that was going to work?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve drank before,” he said, eyeing her bottle. “Just not legally.”

“So?”

“So, nothing. But I do have a question for you.” I watched Annie to see what she would do. Would she agree to help? Or balk at the very idea of having to work at a bar? I took another sip of my vodka, waiting to see.

“Yeah? What kind of question?”

“Everyone who comes in here is real.”

“Real? Like, are you serious?”

“Very. And all I have to do is ask one question. The real people, which is everyone in here, will answer truthfully. And anyone who doesn’t leaves and never comes back. So, ready for your question?”

I was waiting like a cat, ready to pounce. Would Annie help? Or wouldn’t she? I didn’t want to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. And others did the same thing. We all were waiting to hear her answer.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I need your help taking out the trash. Can you do that?”

“Are you serious?”

He stared at her. “Very. Can you?”

She stared into space for a minute, then looked back at Jerry and finished her beer. “Yeah. Why not? It’s not like it will take all that long, right?”

Jerry smiled. “That’s right.”

“Sure. What trash? Where?”

“There are four trash cans,” Jerry pointed throughout the bar, “and the dumpster is out through that door,” Jerry pointed to the fire exit. “Don’t worry about the alarm. And the door? It doesn’t slam shut, so you can come back the same way, cool?”

“Yeah. Trash bags?” Annie asked.

“Inside the cans, underneath the full bag.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Annie got to work, coming back to her stool, smiling. “That was fun. Thank you, Jerry, for the beer.”

Jerry put another Bud Light in front of Annie. “I didn’t order this,” she said to Jerry.

“I know. It’s on the house. Enjoy.”

Annie smiled.

Jerry came back to me. “Did you think she was going to walk out?”

“For a minute, yeah, I did.”

Jerry winked back at me. “Yeah. Me too!”