Raphael had the next night off from work, but I wasn’t as fortunate. We phoned each other back and forth, him playing World of Warcraft, slaying zombies or whatever the heck he did in there, me playing Bar Goddess, running back and forth getting the nice peoples nice and toasty on sweet fiery liquids. I’d taken my cell phone, turned the speakerphone on, and wedged it into my cleavage so I could work and chat with Raphael at the same time. Our goofy talk amused my bar customers so much we invented a new bar game we dubbed the Agave Round Table. In between calls to and from Raphael, they shouted out phone numbers and we called their friends, coworkers, and mates "Live! From Elle's Cleavage!", keeping them on speakerphone while I interviewed them about what they were doing, what they should be doing, what they wished they were doing. We talked a bunch of folks into coming out and joining the party, with a free shot for those who showed up in their pajamas. A dreaded Mat Shot, of course.
We also did a take-off on the whole “psychic bartender” trip I’d been doing with drink orders. This new game was titled: What’s in Your Purse, What’s in Your Pocket?, as in I named an object, and repeatedly, to the bar crowd’s amazement, the object – and it was always something freaky like a Mr. Big ticket stub or a yam or a Pope of Dope lapel button- was pulled out of purse or pocket, revealed as same said object I’d just named. The crowd went wild. No one could figure out how I did it. But then again, neither could I. . . . . . .