Apparently I asked to be disrespected… and she delivered.

So I ordered an Adios/AMF (a.k.a. Adios Motherf*cker) at a bar in Georgia, and the bartender looked me dead in the eye and said, “Don’t you want to be disrespected?”

Naturally, I paused, because I wasn’t sure if this was a threat, a vibe, or the start of a very weird rom-com. I asked, “What do you mean?” and she doubled down like a villain in a Tarantino film: “Don’t you want to be disrespected?”

Me, already three drinks in and emotionally fragile: “Sure, why not.”

She made the drink. It was electric blue, smelled like regret, and hit harder than my last breakup. I was toast within minutes. I don’t think she added anything shady, unless we’re counting black magic.

Anyway, moral of the story: when a bartender offers disrespect, just know you’re about to get absolutely violated… by vodka, rum, gin, tequila, and a splash of “you asked for this.”

Cheers, I guess. 🥴🍸