[ WP ] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he 's working at the bar from all of those `` X walks into a bar '' jokes .

*The Low Bar. * Its a shitty place in a shittier neighborhood. A friend of friend's cousins' sister said she could get a job for me there. Times were tough, my landlady tougher, and that shiny new bar tending certificate sat there just collecting dust. I was desperate, I took it. I've done worse things for money; especially lately. 
 
 It was unusually dark for 6:00pm as the sign hummed and sparked into view. Truth be told, I'd never been there before. The whole thing was done over the phone, very rushed. Fax here, meet me in a cafe to sign, and BAM; My first honest `` not-a-friend's-party'' bar tending job. I did n't think The Low Bar even existed at first, having never noticed it on all my pub crawls. Some people said its always been there. Some say its a new establishment. Folks have said a lot about the owner, too. He's a cartoonish Chinese man one day, or a swarthy Indian man the next. Come to think of it, he was rather ambiguous looking when I briefly met him. *If* that was him. 
 
 
 There was no door man that I could see, so I pulled open the crusted wooden door. There was the staple dive bar aroma of musk and alcohol; Hints of cigarettes and incense, possibly weed... And something else? Something foul and earthy, like a manured field. No more hesitating, I stepped into the dimly lit and gloomy hall ahead- only to double over as soon as my foot breached the creaking doorstep. `` OW. What the FUCK?'' I looked around desperately for whatever hit me. I still do n't know what that was, but it fucking *hurt*. Just then, the small balding man peeked out from the end of the hall. He had a manic look in his eyes, and grinned like it was plastered with the same gel as his comb-over. 
 
 `` Oh! Tim! Hi! Hi! This way! Come on, let's get you working!'' He rushed behind me, and ushered me out into the barroom. It was a large, simple room. But it had hardly any visibility away from the bar. It was questionably dark, with an inordinate amount of smoke. Especially considering that smoking in bars is illegal, here. There were few ceiling lights, and some candles picked out the outlines of tables. The wood plank walls, ancient and well finished, seemed to breath the smoke shrouding the patrons. and somewhere in the distant murmur of talking I could make out the tunes of a jukebox. Mr. Stone, the small man who met me for my papers, jostled my elbow, `` Hey, Tim. So thoughtful. Less thinking, more pouring,'' And so, Mr. Stone gave me a tour of the liquor I was to serve, the sink and single already gross rag I was to use. He also gave me the order to stay at the bar, no matter what, until my shift was over, then leave immediately. Then, he left immediately. 
 
 I straddled a backed bar stool, and poured myself a soda. It was flat from the machine, and tasted as though the thing had n't been cleaned in a long time. The bar was mostly still and quiet in the smoke, and I watched into it with waning interest. Down the hall to my side, I heard the door squeak open. A few men were talking jovially. It stopped suddenly as the first person crossed the threshold. 
 
 
 
 `` OW! SHIT!'' 
 
 `` Jemimah, you shouldn- OHFuck!'' 
 
 `` OOOFF! Oy vey...'' 
 
 A Priest and two Rabbis walked in together, clutching their stomachs, looking very confused. I smiled at them with my best new-bar tender smile, `` Hey there fellas! So, is this a joke?'' I wagged my eyebrows, but they did n't seem to appreciate my jest. They took seats at the farthest end of the counter, and ordered their drinks. They nursed them, talking amongst each other. Not too long later, the door opened again. I did n't hear a cry of pain, but a man turned the corner out of the hall and caught the counter's attention. 
 
 Now when I say this, keep in mind that I mean it. Honestly. This guy fucking looked like Jesus. He even had on a white flowing robe. I looked to my religious patrons to see if he was with them, but they looked just as surprised as myself. The man spent some time looking around, and vanished into the smoke. The three men beside me began whispering furtively. 
 
 `` I know he's Jesus! I feel it!'' 
 
 `` You feel your whiskey, John. Will you think every nut with a robe and long hair is your savior?'' 
 
 As the man came back from the mists, which seemed to mysteriously keep a few inches away from him, the three religious fathers quieted and watched him from the corner of their eyes. The man sat at the stool directly in front of me, smiling. It may have been his soft eyes, easy smile, or immaculate hippie hair, but something about him put me at ease. He shook my hand and introduced himself as Jesus. This got a reaction from the priest, but he was shushed quickly. I decided to just humor him; It would make a great first day on the job story, after all. 
 
 `` So, Jesus, what can I get you?'' He smiled the same assuring smile, and asked for a glass of water. I do n't even remember his voice, weirdly enough. It was like his words just came to me in my head. I gave him the glass of water. He waved his hand over it, and quickly the water swirled with bloody crimson, then burgundy. As the priest started jumping out of his stool and shouting in hysterics, the man calling himself Jesus took a deep sip, and commented on the fine vintage. He then gave me my only tip- Some weird gold coins that have Aramaic writing and three nails. This Jesus guy asks if I can put him up for the night. I explained that this was only a bar, not a hotel. He looked at me sadly, finished his drink, and excused himself. 
 
 Meanwhile, the three other patrons were hotly arguing. `` SO YOU AGREE? THAT WAS A MIRACLE? That had to be Jesus! You have to believe!'' The two Rabbis looked at each other and nodded reluctantly. 
 
 `` Sure, that may have been a miracle; but that was n't Jesus. Two against one, John,'' With that, the priest sat back down and grumpily ordered another drink. 
 
 A while later, the door opened again. A startled whine and grunt alerted me to another hopeful patron, and I smiled to greet... a horse that had just entered the barroom. The three religious men glanced up, but paid no mind to this unusual visitor. I waited a second to see if an owner was following behind as the horse approached the bar. When no owner presented themselves, I played off my confusion with jokingly saying to the horse, `` Sorry mate, we do n't serve your kind here,'' 
 
 `` That's not right, California is very fair to homosexuals! Is this a bar policy, or a personal one? I want to speak to your manager!'' 
 
 I had enough. I put down my shitty soda, took off the grubby apron shoved upon me at some point in the tour and walked right the fuck out. I've never been able to find that bar again. Also, my therapist ca n't convince me horse ca n't talk. I know what I saw. 
 
 Edit: Goofs. Point out if I missed any more.
