I think a sitcom test run came into the bar last night. I didn’t see any cameras or anything like that around, but those networks can be sneaky you know. It was the perfect scenario, you take four friends, the nerdy intellectual (Rustle), the slovenly micro-brew hoodie wearer (Boner), the dreadlock guy with a Where’s Waldo hat on (Darnell) and a guy that looks like Napoleon Dynamite but with a leather jacket and a Jean Claude Van Damme pony tail (Jackson) and there you have it. A perfect misfit bunch of drunken scalawags out on the town to make a few laughs on a ski vacation, looking for a little action. First Boner accidentally insults a cute girl at the bar, her boyfriend gets mad so Darnell try’s to smooth things over and only makes it worse so Jackson has to step in and kick some ass while Rustle pays the bill so everyone can beat it before the fuzz shows up. There you go major network, there is your first episode of “Just Your Average Everyday Dipshits” and I give this to you free of charge. Only, instead of a fight they were just loud and obnoxious and didn’t actually do anything interesting. Yeah, so what, I make up shit in my head to entertain myself at work. At least I wash my hands after using the bathroom.
“What kind of Greyhounds do you make?” Yes, this is a question that I received several times last night. My response? “What do you mean? A Greyhound is a Greyhound, if it is not made with grapefruit juice and vodka then it is not a Greyhound, it would have a different name. Could you be a little more specific?” In a very pleasant tone of course. I had responses from basil and mint to blueberry in trying to describe what they wanted, that I can deal with. For one, we have none of those things and it made it easier for me to give them other options for drinks that they might like. Now, when the girl came up and asked what kind of ginger ale we had and asked if we had one that was spicy? Now that is just ridiculous! You are in a dive bar, what you see is what you get. Spicy ginger ale? You are lucky we have real ginger ale at all. A lot of bars don’t even have that. Would I go into a grocery store and ask if they had something like milk but was made out of wine and tasted like pizza? Or go into a café and after the guy sitting next to me ordered ham and scrambled eggs said “Yes, I’d like to have exactly what he’s having but can you make it an eggs benedict with mashed potatoes and chicken?” Things are called what they are for a reason, no matter what they are. Don’t compare one thing to something completely different and expect me to understand what you want when it’s Friday night and I’m three people deep at the bar, all yelling drink orders at me. Oh well, it’s time for me to go to bed in the cat box and finish my beer that looks more like pinot-pizzio.
For all of the psychos and annoying happenings last night, the bums and the tweaker family circus (happy birthday by the way to the sister-cousin-girlfriend) there was an awesome ray of sunshine. I got to introduce someone to the ribeye steak. One of my regulars had never had a steak at our place and was getting really excited about trying it, that is until I introduced him to the ribeye steak and eggs breakfast with hash browns, a biscuit and gravy, then he was ecstatic. The look of anticipation on his face reminded me something along the lines of how I must have looked the first time I got to go on the big rides at the fair as a youngster, complete and utter joy. His mind was racing when the medium rare beauty was placed in front of him. Where to start? After the first bite of that seared brown monster I could tell he was asking himself “What took me so long to do this?” It was great to introduce someone to a new gastronomic experience, so simple, yet so satisfying. When he was done the look of satisfaction beaming from his face was worth all the buffoonery that I had to put up with the rest of the evening. Even hearing about the lap dance that my cook got out on the back patio couldn’t ruin my night after that, and trust me, the mental images that are still seared into my brain after hearing about jelly ass on his thigh are not going to be easy to ignore for a good long while.
Working, working, working having fun, fun, fun and then enter the long haired pretentious twit with a bandana on. Just because I ran your credit card, after not having been given any special instruction to clear your tab otherwise, this does not give you the right to declare that you think that you could be a better bartender. Also, when you are about five foot nothing, you should really be careful of what comes out of your mouth. Luckily I am a patient person, but someday you might run into someone that will want to put a foot up your pseudo-intellectual ass for being such a pompous fop. This, however, would not be me as I know that in most cases like this ignorance and arrogance on the other person’s part can cloud their judgment on making a competent decision when they think the person they are dealing with is beneath them. My response to his comment, I believe, was “Well I guess you’re entitled to your opinion.” Instead of “Go fuck yourself.”
Nothing starts my work day off like having two derelict morons sitting at the bar acting like total buffoons. The first thing that happened when I walk behind the bar was this little bummy guy says “Hey Brother, show me your tattoo.” So I pull up my shirt sleeve and he says “Oh, there ain’t no Jesus shit on there, those ain’t worth shit!” I had to hold back from making a comment that would be too harsh and I’m not exactly sure what “Jesus shit” is but I’m sure he didn’t appreciate his name being thrown around like that. As it was, a smart response would have been wasted on this dimwit and probably would have started a bit of an unnecessary confrontation. That is not how I like to start my day so I simply said “Hey, to each his own.” and moved on. I then went over to the other bartender and told her to make sure Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb were uninvited to the party before she left, which she took care of in short order. There’s nothing like an ignorant wretch to get you going at the start of your day, adrenaline works faster than caffeine every time.