Hetalia One-Shots

UsUk : Tricks for Tips

  Our manager thought it would be a good idea for the nightclub. So did we, it was perfect for the customers after all. It would have been too, if that git of an American did not have the compulsive idiocy to turn everything into a competition. We both had tip jars and he declared that the bartender with the most tips at the end of the night would win and give the loser an unforgettable dare. Every time he took a bottle he would shake and throw it in the air with a devious snarky smirk. I would just roll my eyes and calmly serve my customers. I did not want to get sucked into the competition, I cared about professionalism. However, that did not last very long.

  The bar was filled with people of every age. My counter was decorated with British flags, red phone boxes as well as the Big Ben. My tie was assorted to the get up and my natural accent was the perfect addition. Alfred's bar counter was glowing with red white and blue lights, triangular American flags hung from the ceiling and his star spangled banner shirt actually lit up. Typical American overcompensation.

  The idea was to organize themed nights at the bar and considering our origins, the boss thought of America and England. It was not supposed to be a competition, simply a way to attract more customers. But now, he and I were playing.

  I would not say I was doing bad; he lured in all the ladies with his cheap tricks and flashy smiles but I still had plenty of men searching for calm and authenticity. A few gals would come up too—not wanting to flatter myself but my looks are not what you would consider dull. I would say we were pretty much a tie at that moment.

  Of course his competitive character led him to try more tricks. He poured the alcohol and fruit syrup into a shaker and began juggling with it along with a couple shot glasses. People surrounded the counter in awe as he put on quite the show. He lay the shots one after the other then poured his cocktail in them. He smirked my way, initiating me into battle.

  I scoffed and grabbed a bottle of scotch and whisky. I threw them in the air, and caught them each in one hand after tapping them with my elbow. Someone had ordered a glass of whiskey which I gladly slid their way. The scotch was for a charming lady who seemed to be eyeing me constantly. Paying no mind to it, I listened to a new order a group of girls requested. They gave me the money and I went to work. I poured some grenadine in the aluminum mixer then balanced it on top of my head while smiling to the group. My eyes never leaving the ladies and the bottle never leaving my head, I reached under the bar and picked up the rest of the bottles to continue making their order as well as eight shot glasses, which I lined up on the bar. The man with the whiskey asked for a a bowl of peanuts as I was preparing my cocktail, so to build suspense, I filled a bowl and set it in front of him, all the while keeping the shaker balanced on my head. Finally, I bobbed my head up to make the bottle fall and I caught it gracefully, without spilling a single drop. Proceeding with the cocktail, I gently placed a few ice cubes in the grenadine. I delicately picked one up in my fingers, placed it onto one of the girls' collar bone, and trailed the cold, dripping cube up her neck and to her lips, leaving it in her mouth. She blushed as her friends giggled in awe and envy. With a playful smirk, I poured some sweet and sour mix using a bar spoon, then some orange juice and some vodka.

  "Are you ready ladies?" I asked while opening the blue curaçao. "This is going to go fast."

  They clapped in excitement and some took out their cellphones. I put on my best smile and finally added the last ingredient and quickly closed the shaker. Without losing a second, I poured the cocktail into each shot glass, creating a gradient of colors as I went along. The glasses went from blue, to green, to yellow, to orange, and last but not least, to red. The girls were ecstatic and each grabbed a glass, laughing, drinking and taking pictures.

  Across the crowd I could see Alfred eyeing my little spectacle as he was filling pitchers with beer. He placed them on the counter top then listened to a new order. I watched him throw a vodka bottle in the air then catch it on his forearm. All the while grinning, he let the alcohol stream into the glass already filled with ice. He then took a Red Bull can, stuck it onto his palm, and poured the drink into the glass, the can firmly glued to his open palm. His customer was impressed, but I was not.