Pam's assumption based on Juno's quiet disposition earned her an eyebrow raise and a slight chuckle on Juno's part. There was no humor in the chuckle, however, it was more another way to let her know how wrong she was.
"I'm really not." She replied, not wanting to outright say she couldn't be paid to give a fuck about what most people felt like talking about when they were drunk. Not after all these years, not after a great part of her life in which that happened with her father and what he felt like talking about when drunk was nothing short of demeaning, hurtful and, of course, abusive. If Juno had a choice she probably wouldn't even have gone to work at a bar, but that had been the only job available to her at the time. It took everything out of her not to lash out at the patrons for the array of stupidity that came with being drunk. "It's shit. You stand a lot, you wipe surfaces clean a lot, you sometimes clean up a lot of vomit too, you hear a lot of shit from a lot of shitty people and occasionally you pour a lot of drinks. I've never met the Bar Rescue guy. I don't think it's possible to rescue that hovel."