I just checked my bank account online and I am furious at the Red Owl!

The Red Owl is this little sports bar right near our house. Sometimes, Greg and I walk over there and have a drink or two, sit and talk on the patio and then walk home again. I like their logo, which is the face of a cartoon red owl. (I know, you wouldn’t have guessed they’d use the owl thing, would you?) For whatever reason, I am always rooting for the place to do well and not go out of business. I like that there’s a bar like that down the street that’s independently owned; kind of a dive but not so bad, either.

We went over there on Saturday night after we got home from seeing “Brick.” I was in a happy mood, for the most part. I like going to the movies and hanging out with Trish and everyone else, and I was still riding a happy high from depositing a check into my bank account that was for an amount that was roughly my yearly salary plus another half-year of salary. I decided I was buying the drinks that night.

So, anyway, we had two beers. Total. As in, one for me and one for him. Not much, you know? My first clue that something could potentially be amiss with this evening was the surly bartender. She was obviously not in the mood for being friendly to the customers in any way, shape or form. When we got to the Red Owl, Greg went to the men’s room and I walked innocently up to the bar. I saw they had High Life on draft, and it was a beer I hadn’t tried yet, so I asked Surly if I could “get a High Life.” She shot me a nasty look and said, “What do you want it in?” Honestly, I haven’t ordered many drinks at a bar, and I am very naïve when it comes to mugs, pints, etc. I have lived a cloistered life for 30 years, and have only come out into the open in the last one. Cut me some slack.

I was flustered, my confidence shot. I really wanted to be the chick who got the beers while he was in the bathroom. I wanted to be slick about it. Nope. I didn’t know what I wanted it in. Which was bigger? Which is more expensive? I heard myself yell back to her, “A pint,” since I had a clue how big that would be. She got it and slammed it down in front of me with a frown—a real, honest to God frown. “So are you paying cash, or what?”

“I’ll start a tab,” I meekly offered, and handed her my debit card. She took it and stalked off to another part of the bar before I could even say I’d like another beer for my guy. What crawled up her ass and gave her colon the time of day, I’ll never know.

Anyway, Greg ended up getting a beer from Surly after all. We went outside to enjoy the ambiance of the lovely, peaceful Red Owl.

We sat on the patio and tried to talk, but there was a loud, dirtbaggy table of trash sitting out there too, and they were doing that super loud drunk-screaming thing. It was amusing at first, especially since they looked like they were wanna-be bikers, and wanna-be bikers are funny; and also, one guy had a Brett Michaels look going on with the bandana and the hat, and he was screaming out quotes from “Ace Ventura” and “Anchorman.” However, it quickly got annoying, and we had to move inside to escape the drunken hollering and guffawing.

While we were out there on the patio, Surly left and she said as she was leaving, “I switched your tab to another server,” and that was that. OK, no problem. Besides, the new server turned out to be a lot nicer and didn’t make me feel like a brain-damaged cave hermit come out for the night to try “the drinking.”

When it was time to leave, I closed out the HUGE tab of the cost of two beers. It was $6.00. I added on some tip—like two dollars, for I am not generous with the bar tips since I don’t know what I’m doing, and I still was smartin’ from Surly’s condescending attitude. I got my receipt and we walked home again, happy as little clams. Clams that can walk, wear pants and think about things; clams that have debit cards, the power of the English language and the ability to shower. (We are so much better than clams!)

So anyway, today I was shocked to see that the Red Owl is attempting to take $16 out of my account. What the frig! We had two beers, $3 each. I have a feeling it’s the work of Surly. I bet she ran our tab through before she left. And then the new server ran it through again. But usually, that would show up as two transactions. There’s just one listed there, and it’s for $16. I guess the newer and nicer server was either stupid and hit the wrong number in, or just mean in a whole other way. Curses upon you all, Red Owl bartenders!

I don’t have the receipt anymore—I think I threw it out yesterday when I cleaned my purse out. Who keeps a bar receipt? (Maybe everyone does. Again, here’s me with the lack of bar-sense.) I bet it says $8.00. Or, I could be dumb and it did read $16 and I was too lazy to look at what I was being handed. Either way, I am not sure what to do here. Can I just go into the bar and ask for $8.00 back, without a receipt? The most I can get is a printout of my balance page.

And is it worth further Red Owl embarrassment and shaming, to go back there and make a fuss over $8.00? I am SO bad at things like this. I think I try too hard to do that, to “not cause a fuss.” I need to grow a spine and stand up for myself and my bank account. Sure, it’s fat with home sale proceeds at the moment, but that doesn’t mean I feel like inadvertently donating $8.00 to the Surly and Stupid Servers Fund. What should I do? Forget it and shake it off, or go there and ask them to fix it?

Is it lame that I even posted this? I don’t know. All I know is: Stupid Red Owl! Piss on you. I’ll drink in my living room from now on.