The bartender makes a temporary job offer

While you contemplate how to get some drinks without money the bartender's pocket starts chirping and he pulls out a cell phone.

"Yeah? Hey Ang. What? You're what? But you're on tonight... Yeah, but..." his eyes glance at you as you curiously listen in. "No, alright. Fine. I hope you feel better."

"That wasn't Ang, was it?" one of the patrons asks, apparently not having listened in as well as you.

"Yeah it was," the bartender says, frowning. His eyes fix on you.

"I haven't decided yet!" you blurt, assuming that he's about to ask you how you're going to earn your beers.

A smile crosses his face and he pulls out a glass before he mixing a few drinks into it. "Try this. On the house."

"No charge?" you ask warily, wondering why the change of attitude.

"No charge."

You eye him suspiciously for a few seconds, but the prospect of a free drink drives you to take the glass from his hand, chugging it down before he changes his mind.

The next moment you desperately want to unchug it, but as it sizzles down like molten lava your throat seems to clench shut, leaving you bug-eyed and panicking as something that's definitely not beer burns its way down to your stomach, where it sparks like firecrackers while it melts through your stomach lining and into your veins..

"What...?" you wheeze, nearly face-down on the counter. Eager hands have reached out during the ordeal to pat and stroke your back and thighs as if to re-assure you, while in reality being just an excuse to touch you.

"A special mix. It's better the second time. Most people don't chug it, though," the bartender smirks. "Anyway, I've got a proposition for you."

"After trying to kill me?" you ask, gathering your strength to push away the invasive hands. The booze in your stomach seems to simmer but not as much as it hand, and you feel a warm glow start to pervade the rest of your body.

"How'd you like to do some work for a couple of hours. Earn a bit of money. Or more drinks?"

"Earn..." you lift your head, forgetting about the softly stroking hands. "How? I have to go get my laundry in an hour," you add as an after-thought.

"No problem, you can pop out quickly. Or one of the boys might be happy to help you out with that. It only pays eight bucks an hour, but there's tips too."

Understanding dawns as you realize he wants a waitress. You've never done that before, but how hard could it be?