“The Three Blondes”

The three blondes glare at Oscar, and Oscar glares right back. There is no love between these four ladies. The three had been obnoxious and demanding all night, bumping into other customers, pretending like they own the joint, demanding their drinks.

“What do you want?” Oscar finally asks.

“We want our drinks,” the leader replies.

“I’m literally making your fucking drinks,” Oscars says, vigorously shaking a martini shaker, slamming it on the edge of the bar inches from the leader’s dainty little hands.

“Hey,” yells the leader. “I’ll sue you and this shitty place.”

Oscar stops pouring the martini. She grabs a glass by its stem, smashes the brim on the counter, and puts it up to the leader’s neck. The two other girls stand back in horror like deer in headlights.

“I will fucking cut your pretty little neck, sweatheart,” Oscar says with a smile. The leader’s eyes well up. She’s speechless. Oscar casually puts down the glass, like a pro who has been through this a million times before. These young, entitled, spoiled pretty little things. Fuck them. I don’t need this job that badly. And fuck anyone else who gets in my way.

“Now, sweetheart,” says Oscar, “what were you having?"

The leader erupts in tears and runs out the front door. Her friends stay staring, mouths agape. The leader runs back in, yelling at her herd, who crawl to her and disappear into the night.

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