Wrong side of the bar

I see you nearly every day and wonder what you're thinking
You ask me if I'm being served, and if not, what I'm drinking
I wish our conversation could extend to higher things
But until then, mine's a pint of Carling

I quickly drain my glass and request it filled anew
I don't really want another pint, just an excuse to speak to you
"Same again", I say, but really inside I think
I like you more and more with every drink

I'd like to know you better, but I can't get very far
Because you're always on the wrong side of the bar