Performance Feature

By: Lizzie Cothran

Loud music blares out of the modern juke-box, barely covering the clanking of bottles in the smoky room. The Red Bull clock strikes 11:15 and Claire Kallimanis’ night is just getting started.

She wipes her forehead every time the second hand of the clock makes a full round. Her black t-shirt is just short enough to show an inch of midriff above her skin-tight, dark wash jeans.

She pulls back her long, black hair into a messy ponytail, just before tending to the businessmen that just grabbed three stools at the end of the bar. They ask for menus, which she passes right through their wall of smoke they’ve managed to make in the two minutes they’ve been there.

Claire spins like a dradle, between bottles filled with dark, light, and clear liquor, and the wobbling, stuttering good-tippers. She grabs bottle after cold bottle of Budweiser, Michelob Ultra, Smirnoff Black Ice, and Coors Light, handing it to the obnoxious group of local college students, none of whom manage to spit out a simple “Thank you.”

A woman in her mid-thirties with blonde hair, a tight, black dress, and drooping eyes stumbles up to the bar, grabs Claire’s arm and pulls her, handing her a handful of cash and a face full of bad breath. Claire turns and uses her lengthy arms to reach to the top shelf. A belligerent man manages to let out a whistle as he watches her stretch. Claire rolls her eyes as she pours clear poison into a shot glass and hands it to the woman.

The large man, dressed head-to-toe in black, motions for Claire. She pulls down her shirt as much as possible before asking the man what he’d like to drink. He orders a Flaming Dr. Pepper, and Claire twists around to grab the components that make up the liquid confidence.

Claire’s fills a glass with beer, and places it on the bar in front of the man. Then, she uses her skills to carefully layer Bacardi 151 on top of Amaretto. The man tries to use his best pick-up lines, but Claire doesn’t bother to reply. She lights the shot, sending up a blue flame, lighting up the dimly lit corner of the bar.

The man picks up the torch, tilts his glass, and spills the contents of the shot. This catches his hand on fire, but he manages to quickly shake it out. Claire can’t help but let a slight smile graze her lips as she puts the money into the cash drawer.