Instead of letting the sea of customers drown him, Reiji had become a blur of motion as he the process took on a flow of its own. There was something oddly relaxing about only having to worry about pouring and serving, with hardly any time to think in between those two things. In fact, the only things that had time to go through his head were the impressions he had of people based on their drinks.

[color=red]”Rum and coke.”[/color] Not very adventurous, are ya? The drink was about as basic as it gets, but it was still a respectable choice nonetheless. 

[Color=red]”Vodka and cranberry.”[/color] Die in a fire. Because seriously, this one was almost as bad as the schmuck who got the vodka and Red Bull. 

[color=red]”Appletini.”[/color] This guy doesn’t care about what anyone thinks. And on top of that, the girly drink actually looked right in the hands of the dork that was wearing scrubs and had way too much gel in his hair.

[color=red]”Jameson, neat.”[/color] Take me home tonight. Shit, he said that one out loud rather than just think it. Oh well, he was already moving on to the next drink, so the there was no time to be embarrassed.

Reiji was so wrapped up in his work that he barely even registered the biker approach him, even when he threw a package down on the bar. Sure, the fact that he had kept his helmet on was strange, but honestly half of the people here looked even weirder to him due to how nicely they all dressed, so he didn't particularly stand out in his mind. Thankfully, Scott took care of it, so the punk was free to keep working on thinning out the ridiculous crowd that had piled up. It was hard to tell if the sea of tipsy drinkers was disappearing, but he could only hope that they were, as exhaustion was starting to set in. The speed at which he churned out drinks was starting to slow down a bit and the needless bottle flipping was being done less and less, but there was no way in hell he was going to stop until everyone had been served and judged for their choice in transport to the wonderful land of Drunksville.  

A grin tugged at the corner of Reiji’s mouth. Outside of playing guitar for his band, Spitfires, he had never even considered taking on a job permanently. That kind of talk was for squares who were looking to settle down and die a slow death at the hands of boredom and responsibility. And yet, there was something about this place that was making the idea sound not so far-fetched to the punk. For the briefest of moments, he could almost see himself helping out around here on a somewhat frequent basis. Oh well, he would have to sit on it later, as there were still plenty of drinks to be made and he was finding that he did not possess nearly as many arms as he would have liked.

[color=red]”Motor Oil? Seriously? What, did your parents not hug you enough as a child or something?”[/color] he couldn't help but ask as he reluctantly assembled what had to be one of the most foul things he had ever seen.