It was an average night in 2016 America, long after the sun had gone down, and the cameras and television reporters were gone. After a lengthy and heated debate between presidential candidates when stress, anxiety, and tremendous amounts of pressure weighed heavily in the heads of those who ran in the competitive race, candidates Bernie Sanders, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, and Ted Cruz gathered together for a drink or two to unwind and settle down underneath the cool of a darkly lit bar, somewhere in the United States of America.
Bernie Sanders was scrolling through albums on the jukebox with a group of teenagers who had gotten into the bar with fake IDs. Ted Cruz sat in the corner by himself sipping away at a gin and tonic while flipping through his pocket bible. Hillary Clinton sat at a booth with a group of people she’d just met, ranting and raving nervously about her past summer vacations she’d made up having, as they all sat there with their eyebrows hunched down and their hands on their chins, studying her closely. Donald Trump sat at a stool at the bar with a Bud Light in his right hand. He was pointing with his other hand and shouting angrily across the bar at a bartender, screaming, “Make my beer cold again! Make my beer cold again!” as the bartender was trying to lean in closer to hear him over a line of beer taps that separated them on his side of the bar.
Sanders began to make his way onto an empty stool at the bar next to Trump once he was done selecting his song on the jukebox. He said, “Man, what a great night to...” and erupted into a violent coughing fit halfway through his sentence. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, old man!” Trump said. “Who do you think you are, coughing all over me like that?” “Now now, Donald,” Sanders said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I apologize.” There were a few moments of silence as Trump shook his head and Sanders pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing it to his mouth. “You know,” Trump turned to him and said. “Back in my day, if you were to cough on anybody like that, you’d leave the bar on a stretcher!” Just then, they both turned their heads to the sound of the front door being opened and saw the bottom of a shovel, a black trash bag and Cruz’s coattail moving through the small crack of the door just before it closed. “Huh,” Sanders said, while stuffing his handkerchief back into the inside pocket of his coat. “Guess Ted doesn’t know how to hang!” and began coughing violently again. As they both stared at the swinging door in wonder, Hillary made her way into a seat next to the two of them. “Well hey, you two!” she said. “What’d I miss?!” “Oh, nothing,” Sanders said while swatting his hand towards the door. “Just Ted pulling the ol’ Irish goodbye on us.”
Trump then sprang into action and slammed his hand down on the bar while excitedly saying, “You know what? I’ve got a great idea!” Both Clinton and Sanders gathered close in anticipation. “I’ve got Daddy’s credit card in my wallet!” Trump said rather proudly, then slammed his hand on the bar again. “Who wants another drink?!” “OoOoOhhh I do! I do! I do!” Clinton shouted, jumping up and down in her seat with her right hand raised high in the air. “Ahh, what the hell!” Sanders said while shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll have whatever everybody else in this bar is drinking,” he said, pointing a finger up and nodding his head in strong certainty. Trump turned to Clinton who was leaning over to her left, listening closely to somebody whispering in her ear. “You think it’ll work?” she whispered back to the person who then nodded their head in approval. Clinton turned her head back towards Trump and said, “I’ll have a Sex on the Beach!” with a big smile on her face. Trump looked back towards the bartender, who was still trying to peek over the beer taps to see them, and shouted, “One Sex on the Beach, one of whatever everybody else in this bar is drinking, and for me…” thinking long and hard for a second while rubbing his chin, “And for me another Bud Light!” “Whatttt?!?!” the bartender struggled to hear what Trump had said over the distance between them that. After shouting the order a few more times to the bartender and finally being heard, the bartender walked over to the computer and began clicking away at the screen, while Trump reached inside his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and dug for his father’s credit card. The bartender returned from the register and shouted to Trump, “That’ll be $28.55.” “28 dollars?!” Sanders said. “Why can’t all the drinks just be free?” “Are you kidding me?!” Trump burst into a rage. “Why the hell can’t Mexico just pay for the drinks!”
A few short moments later, the sound of heavy bass and autotuned vocals fled through the speakers that surrounded the room. The group of young teenagers across the room shouted in excitement and leaped, making their way to the dancefloor as their latest favorite pop song to top the charts filled their ears and came on the jukebox. “Oh, my!” Sanders said, leaning over to Trump and Clinton at the bar. “This is the song I chose! I chose this one to play! Excuse me, you guys!” and he downed the last half inch of his drink and ran over to the dance floor. He began showing off his moves as the young people around him gazed in amazement when he ‘taught them how to dougie’ and moved ‘like Bernie’ and whatnot. “Excuse me!” Hillary hollered across the bar to the bartender. “Do you have any hot sauce?” The bartender made a confused face as he looked back at her. “Hot sauce?” he replied. “For a cocktail?” “Yes, hot sauce! I bring it with me everywhere I go but I forgot to bring it with me tonight!” she replied loudly, peering over her shoulders at the people who surrounded them. Trump stared, completely amazed, and pulled out his cell phone. “Oh, I’ve gotta make a Tweet about this!” A young, good looking girl on the dance floor dancing close to Sanders—who was doing a move that made everybody surrounding him applaud heavily—had stopped dancing and made her way over to the bar. Glancing back and forth at his phone, Trump saw her and thought “Mmmm, what a fine young lady. Now if only she were my daughter…”
After the song was over, Sanders received all kinds of high fives and other forms of acceptance from the young people who danced with him. They patted him on the back and shouted things like “Hell yeahh!” and “Alright Bernieee!” to him as he walked back to the bar, sat in the stool he had been in, and began coughing again. “Huh,” Hillary said, while looking at her phone. “I can’t get in touch with my husband. He’s not answering any of my text messages.” She then put her phone back on lock and stuffed it into her purse saying, “Oh well, I trust my husband!”
Just then, the bartender returned with three drinks in his hands, tiptoeing and doing his best not to drop them as he placed them on the bar in front of them. “Here you go,” he told them. “Now you guys just holler if you need anything else!” “Thanks,” the three of them muttered separately. The bartender stood there hesitantly for a few seconds and scratched his head as he waited for the big tip he’d expected to be given. The bartender was a rather young looking, very modest and average American boy. From the moment they had entered the bar, he’d known exactly who each of them was, yet treated them just as he’d have treated anyone who walked in through the front door of his bar. He stood there and watched the three of them clink their glasses together and drink, and just for reassurance, shouted again to them, “All right, you guys have a good night!” with a big, fake smile on his face as the three of them looked at him, smiled, and then quickly broke off into some conversation about something unimportant to him.
The bartender hung his head in disappointment, walked back over to a big stack of beer glasses by the edge of the bar, and joined his coworker in polishing the glasses. “Bernie, Hillary and Trump in OUR bar!” his coworker said to him in excitement as he polished away at a glass he held in his hands. “What are the odds of that, huh?!” The bartender peered back over to the three candidates sitting at the other end of the bar, Bernie Sanders coughing and flirting with young college students, Hillary Clinton leaning over to listen to somebody else whispering in her ear telling her what to say next in her conversation with Trump, and Donald Trump banging his fists hard against the bar in front of him and shouting like an angry chimpanzee. “Yeah,” the bartender replied to his coworker as he reached for a beer glass and a napkin. “If only we were allowed to drink on the job.”