Well, it turns out that there is a reason that I don’t like working happy hour shifts, people are dipshits. Now, I’m not saying all people are like that, definitely not. But the chosen few, the dipshitterati if you will, of the drinking world are on grand display during the golden hour and it can be annoyingly spectacular. Take for example the two fine specimens yesterday. One, a fine young mulletted curly headed fuck that puked in the urinal and his silver haired stumbling, slurring side kick. I believe the time was approximately 4:00pm when they were refused service, after having put up with their poor behavior for forty-five minutes. After having to tell old marble mouth that I could not serve him anything more today in a very polite way, he just looked at the bar in a confused fashion as I walked away. The younger of the two looks at him and just says “Fuck that guy!” Now, I would usually get my hackles up at this point and go tell the guy to drag his drunk puking ass out of the bar, get overly worked up and need around an hour to decompress, probably taking out my frustrations on the glassware. Fortunately, a customer that was sitting close by looked at the kid and said calmly “He’s actually a good bartender and maybe you’ve had enough and should just leave.” And they did! It was actually a nice segue into a fairly uneventful rest of the evening with some fun and entertaining guests, which I was very grateful for. Thanks to all the sane reasonable people out there that have my back.
So, this girl walks up to me last night in the middle of a punk show and says “Do you have a towel? There’s a spill over there!” So I toss her a towel and she looks at me like I’m an idiot and says “Someone dropped a beer on the floor! That’s not going to help!” So I looked at her and say “If you think anything short of stopping the band, mopping the floor, cleaning everyone’s shoes and waiting for everything to dry will work on cleaning this mess, by all means, have at it!” This is also the same person that came up to me later and said “Are you aware that there is a bloody t-shirt in the women’s bathroom?” To which I stated “Since I don’t go into the women’s bathroom, no I don’t, but thanks for letting me know though. We’ll get it taken care of.” Just a little advice for this young lady and others out there, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you are at a punk show, have fun, that’s what punk shows are for. Thanks for a good time guys!
Sometimes while bartending I hear snippets of a conversation that inspires me to chime in, usually in a smart-ass fashion, especially if I know the people. Last night I overheard a young man say “Just tell me what you want.” So of course I had to finish the chorus of the Spice Girl’s song and said “Yeah, tell me what you want, what you really really want!” Well, that’s when things got funny. She looks at me and says “I don’t think that would be very appropriate.” Then, her face turned red. Yes, she was blushing, and all her friends noticed and started giving her crap about it. It’s funny how saying something so stupid and trivial can create an uncomfortable moment, but hey, it would be even stranger if I didn’t create awkward moments with my quirky sense of humor. What can I say, my mouth reacts to situations before my brain can say “Well, that may not be the best thing to do Mouth, let’s think this over and devise a less odd way of approaching this particular subject….” Yeah, that’s when the Mouth says “Fuck you brain, you are boring me and I have better things to do right now.” Inappropriate things fly about the room at that point before reason takes over and fun things happen. At least it’s fun to me.
“Everyone Poops” is a popular book to help potty train toddlers when it’s time to kick off the diaper and start wearing big kid underwear. I guess after last night I need to write a book called “Everyone Poops, Just Don’t Poop There Dumbass!” Yes, at first I thought it was just someone crop dusting the bar, being inconsiderate of the rest of us and farting up a storm. Then it got stronger, much stronger and the smell consumed the whole room. That’s when I knew, I had to investigate the bathroom. When I opened the door it was an overpowering stench that was almost mind numbing and as I looked around on the floor I saw bile from someone’s puke covering the whole area. Being curious, or stupid, I ventured into the bathroom stall and found the source of the gut wrenching smell. Yes folks, a puddle of shit, and right in front of the toilet no less. Apparently our mess maker suffered from a malady that shot liquid death out both ends at the same time and chose improperly on which end to put on the toilet. Everyone knows you don’t put your face where your ass goes when pulling off a double threat ejection, the shit goes in the hole and you clean up the puke or, if you have the time, you grab a receptacle to puke in while taking care of number two. At any rate, it was no picnic, but I got it cleaned up. I just couldn’t wash enough to get that smell out of my head, but the bathroom was useable in the end. The way it smelled in there, I’m just glad there wasn’t a dead body covered in all that mess.
Listening in or observing a conversation never gets boring in my line of work, and the gullibility of some people never ceases to amaze me. Take for example my two subjects last night, as I was making a Bloody Mary, one of the guys asks me if I use Worcestershire in making the drink. I told him that I did indeed and that it was a key ingredient in how I make a Bloody Mary. After he asked how to properly pronounce it, I explained that it is pronounced wuus-ter-sher. That’s when things got interesting. A customer and fellow bartender was sitting next to the dynamic duo and noticed an opportunity to have some fun at their expense. He piped in and said “You guys want to know how it got that name? There was a couple of old southerners having dinner one night and the one guy’s wife served up some roasted beef and this sauce she made up herself. When the other guy wanted to know what kind of sauce it was, he asked with a full mouth ‘Whas sis shere sauce?’ (meaning what’s this here sauce) and the wife thought it was funny, so when she passed on the recipe, that’s what she called it and that’s how it got the name.” So the one drunkard pipes in all excited and says “Holly shit! That’s cool! I would have never guessed that, that’s awesome!” totally believing the story. He then looked at me and said “Did you know that?” that’s when I had to drop the reality bomb on him. I said “You know, that is a great story, however, the gentleman that told you the story is a bartender, and they are well known for messing with people. Trust me, I know. It is actually named after the town it was originally made in, which would be Worcester in Worcestershire County in England which, while not as entertaining of a story that was just told, it is the truth.” It’s funny just how gullible people can be after a few drinks especially when a bartender is spinning tales. If you want a good tip on how to find out when a bartender is lying to you it’s easy, their lips are moving.
To the old redneck that thinks my bar sucks, let me ask you this. Does the place suck because I can’t serve your drunk ass after you have fallen off your bar stool, or was it because I told you to quit bothering the nice people around you that were getting ready to get up and leave, or could it have been the fact that you could barely talk, let alone order a drink, and when asked to leave felt the need to inform everyone in the bar how much of an asshole I am? If that is the criteria on which you base how much a bar sucks, then yes indeed my man, we suck, we suck awesomely.
It was a night of one cut-off after another as my shift progressed last night, but the nice thing was, I was only responsible for one of them. That would be the birthday boy that turned twenty-one. He and his buddies were a good group of guys out to have some fun and they definitely accomplished their mission. With the help of a few shots bought by other patrons wanting to ensure the birthday night was a memorable one, including a “Brain Hemorrhage” the experience was complete, designated driver and all. When the poor lad was leaving he had a well earned stumble in his step but was doing ok, that is until later when he showed back up at the bar with a drink in his hand, that I learned later he had procured from a friend. Now, seeing how he left the bar earlier I knew he didn’t need another drink so I simply said “Hey man, I know it’s your birthday and all, and I’m glad you have had a good night but I’m going to have to take that beer and give you some water. I’m sorry to have to put a kink in your night but I’m not just here to give you drinks, I’m also here to make sure you can come back another night and have more fun.” He was very cool about it and handed it right over and thanked me for being cool to him and not kicking him out. I know he’ll be back, that is, after he gets a new I.D. that isn’t expired, as his old one expired on his birthday. Oops!
Hey drunk ugly people! Quit making out at my bar! It’s bad enough that I have to listen to the three of you talk about your sex quirks, like choking people, pulling hair, foot sucking and all that, but I don’t need to see you making out too. These people were so ugly and without any inhibitions that I overheard one customer say to another “I think it’s disgusting that a guy would take advantage of a retarded girl like that!” (His words not mine!) Sorry folks, the girl in question did not have a condition, other than the fact that she was drunk and liked talking about how she liked to smash guys junk with the heel of her shoe for being bad. Poor judgment and lack of inhibition? Probably. Something that normal people do in public? Not even close! Thanks again alcohol, you polluted my brain with images that can never be erased!
Some people have way too much time on their hands. For example, I noticed one of my customers staring intently at a book of matches, so out of curiosity I ask him if everything is ok. He looks at me and says “Do you think it’s a good idea to have matches with your bar’s name on them?” So, having to dig a little deeper into where he was going with this I said “Yes I do, we’ve been doing it for years, and it’s a good cheap way to get your name out there. Why? Do you think it’s a good idea?” I should have known better to end that statement with a question. He responded with something that had never crossed my mind and shouldn’t be a worry to anyone when he said “No I don’t. What if you get arrested and the cops find these matches in your pocket? They are going to know where you have been and they even have your address on them so they know right where to go to find out where you got drunk!” Now, I can’t speak for everyone, but getting arrested is not something I regularly worry about and besides, who cares if they know where you have been drinking if you do indeed get arrested? I think the police are going to have other worries on their hands if you are being handcuffed by them. The only concern the bar might have is if they had grossly over served someone and they were arrested for a DUII. That does not bode well with the local liquor agency, but then that is a whole other can of worms. My response to him was “Could you possibly be over thinking this? You are out to have a good time with your friends. Do you think your time could be better spent talking to them instead of focusing on this trivial issue that you have made up in your head, or possibly trying to talk to some girls?” He looked at me kind of confused and said “There are no girls in here to talk to!” After pointing out several groups of girls sitting in the bar he said “Oh, maybe I am over thinking this whole matchbook thing. I still think it’s a dumb idea though!” Yes, decades of giving away free matches have done nothing but cause us grief. Thank you so much for pinpointing the issue as we are obviously too daft to figure it out on our own. Oh wait, that’s right, there is no issue you paranoid freak.
While helping someone hail a cab last night I noticed something in the doorway of the business next to ours. There was a young woman, stone-cold passed out lying in the doorway, in what looked like a very uncomfortable position with a pile of vomit in front of her and all over the arm under her. While other people noticed her, nobody had stopped to check on her to make sure she was still alive. I walked over and bumped her foot and gave her the “Hey, are you ok?” to see if I could get some response out of her, as I have learned over the years that you don’t want to surprise anyone in that position too much or you may either get punched or cause them to piss themselves, or any other number of results in between. Well, she did finally stir and I asked if she was ok, she just looked at me and smiled with a little bit of puke on her cheek and said “I’m awesome, what’s your name?” I then stated that I was just making sure she was ok and did she need a cab, to which she declined, and then finally started noticing the mess she had made on herself. That’s when her friends finally stepped in and started helping her out. I was glad she was just drunk and hadn’t been drinking in my bar and moved on. I had to laugh a little though, and remember that we all had to learn some things the hard way, or in her case the uncomfortable messy way.