I have my own Maggie stories, but they will have to wait. For now, I have one of the my friend Bill's. Maggie was who every bartender wanted to be when she grew up. Sheelah told me she was taking bitch lessons from her.
Bat Bitch, she always wears black. Maggie Colie's the bartender, and she's saving up for motorcycle leathers. The sign on the tip jar reads "MAGGIE'S LEATHER FUND ...TODAY'S MY BIRTHDAY."
"How much you need?"
"I need all you big spenders can stuff in there. I'm getting a Harley if there's enough left over. Just fill up that jar with some of that quiet kind of money and I'll be one happy bartenderloin this May 12th. Otherwise, shut up, sit down, and drink your stinking beer."
Maggie's a mistress of tact. She just plays a little hard.
"How old are you?" [asks a customer]
"You from the census bureau? Jesus Christ."
"Come on, how old?"
"What'll it be...You want a beer or not?"
"Pint of Grant's?"
"Grants is a brewery, not a beer. I think you're going to have to do a little reading before you're informed enough to place an intelligent order." She nods toward a bill-board sized sign behind the bar. "That's the bill of fare."
Undaunted, he points to a tap. "I'll have the yellow one, says Grants on it."
"That's $2.25. You want to get your money out, so we can get on with our lives?"
"Jesus Christ!" says Maggie Colie.
[Editor's note: Remember when a tap beer was $2.25?]