Archive | |A Bartending Life| RSS feed for this section

A Simple Request

1 Jun

Working in a bar has made me learn a lot about people.  It has made me realize that, on the whole and when combined with alcohol and a certain lack of respect for service professionals, people are poorly behaved and quite stupid. In the past, I have written a a few times about the poorly behaved subset, but today I wish to regale you with a tale, a short tale, of stupidity.

My bar, for those of you who have had the pleasure of drinking there, is a bar, strictly that.  We have weekly food specials — wings on Mondays, cheese and crackers on Wednesdays, bagels on Sundays — but we lack a kitchen.  All the foodstuffs are brought in from outside and are free.  Sometimes, this leads to some confusion.  People come in on non-food days thinking that there will be food out.  People take a seat at the bar and place an order for wings when the goods are located directly behind them in a heating tray.  People sit down and order a beer and ask to see the menu.  All these different misconceptions about the services we provide, or don’t provide, are completely understandable.  The conversation I had last night, however, was not understandable at all.

A group of four people came in and found a table.  The representative of the group, a tall guy in plaid, then came up, ordered the decided-upon drinks, and asked to see the food menu.  I responded the way I always do.

“Sorry, we don’t have a kitchen but you’re more than welcome to bring food in if you’d like.  I also have this big book of menus if you want to order something.”

He nodded at me vigorously.

“Would you like the book of menus?”

More nodding.  I handed him the book, which is actually a huge binder full of little laminated folders packed with tons of menus from local restaurants (mostly Asian Fusion, it seems) and went along doing my job.  About 45 minutes later, a thin girl in a green dress (a t-shirt, maybe?) comes shuffling, and I mean shuffling, up to the bar, holding the binder open on her extended forearms.  She slides the binder down onto the bar in front of where I was doing dishes and looks up at me, doe eyed.  She then looks down at the open menu laying across the binder, looks up at me again and then cocks her head to the side.  At this point, I was pretty sure I knew what was about to happen but I didn’t want to believe it.  I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Me:  “Yes?”

Simple Girl:  “We would like to order take-out off this menu,” tapping her finger on the menu for a local Middle Eastern restaurant.

Me:  “That’s great.  Call them.”

Simple Girl:  “Oh, we have to call?”

Me, exasperated:  “Yes.”

She then picked up the book of menus and once again laid it over her forearms and headed back to the table where the rest of her party awaited her.  I looked in disbelief at two of my other customers who had overheard the entire interaction.  They looked equally as amused.  I shook my head and continued on washing glasses, chuckling about the stupidity of the request.  Then, it occurred to me, it wasn’t just this one stupid girl.  There were 4 people.  There were 4 people sitting at a table, deciding where to order from, and they all came to the consensus that the reasonable thing to do at that juncture was not to order directly from the restaurant that clearly had no association with the establishment in which they were currently sitting.  No.  The reasonable thing to do was to send someone up to the bar with the menus to request that the bartender order their dinner for them. I stopped being amused and got a little sad.  People.  So stupid.

Tags: , , ,

Don’t Be An Asshole

3 May

Last Thursday night I was, as I am every Thursday night, behind the stick of the bar in which I work.  It had been one of those days.  Specifically, it had been the day that I was harassed by someone in, and on my way home from, The Home Depot near where I live.  I was not in the mood.  But, in an effort at being professional, I tried to put my day’s anger out of my mind.  After all, it wasn’t the fault of my customers that some asshat in an SUV had stalked me through a hardware store and then tried to give me a ride home.  The night went along more or less without a hitch…until about 3:15.  We have this customer who comes in after his restaurant closes most nights of the week. I find him incredibly annoying.  Also, weird.  Annoying and weird.  But as long as I ask him how his night went, give him the 5 tastes of beer he wants and then the actual pint he decides upon, everything is more or less okay.  I try not to talk to him much but to be pleasant when do.  Generally he only stays for one or two, generally he is gone by 12:30 or so.  This past week was different.

He, I’ll call him Daniel, came in at the usual time with a few of his coworkers.  They were celebrating the return of one of the other employees of the restaurant who had been injured the week before.  We were all happy he was back at work and smiling.  Daniel had his customary two beers and then the third.  After the third beer, about 2 1/2 hours after he originally showed up, he decided to go home.  I was happy.  Then, 15 minutes later, he was back.  That is never a good sign.  Generally I find that people who come in late night looking for that one last drink are the most problematic of them all.  Sometimes you don’t know how much they have had and that last one puts them over the edge.  Sometimes you know how much they’ve had but, since they have been there for awhile and you know them, you feel a little bad cutting them off even though you know you should.  You don’t cut them off and you always, every single time, regret it and swear next time that happens you’ll do it.  But then it happens again and you don’t.  Vicious cycle.  Anyway, I have no idea of what this guy’s tolerance is whatsoever.  I only ever see him have one or two.  But I knew when he walked back in the door that this was the drink that was going to do it.  He ordered a Guinness.  With a 4.2% ABV, I figured this was a safe and smart order.  He started asking my coworker a question.  She said she didn’t want to talk about it.  Then he did the thing which I find that men often do:  he asked her again.  Again and again and again.  He phrased it differently.  Tried to guess the answer.  Over and over and over.  Finally she, and I, had had enough.  It was my bar – she was barbacking – so I decided to step in and ask him to drop it.  As I see it, as a bartender, it is my job to make sure that my clients and coworkers feel comfortable and safe and not annoyed.  He argued with me, told me he wasn’t talking to me, that I interrupted.  She fled to the bathroom, I walked away to the other side of our very long bar, leaving him alone.  A few moments later a song came on that sounded more appropriate at a funeral than in a bar, so I walked down the other end, past Daniel, to skip to the next one.  He started up with me again.  I ignored him.  And then, again.  Clearly this is a man who doesn’t take no, or drop it for that matter, for an answer. Finally, after another pointless back-and-forth, I got so annoyed by his condescension and accusatory tone that I asked him to finish his beer and go.  He said he could go somewhere else.  So I said fine, and I took his beer and pulled it in front of me, a sign that it was no longer his to drink.  He looked at me and said,

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” I responded, “but I’m fairly certain you are.  I’m working.  This is me doing my job.”

And then he said it, “go fuck yourself,” and he stormed off.

Now I have been a person far longer than I have been a bartender, but 95% of the times I have been told off in one way or another have been when I have been behind the bar.  And 95% of those times have been by men.  It’s something that I never get used to and something I completely don’t understand.  Being called a bitch.  Told I am “disrespectful.”  Informed that if a girl at my bar has a tattoo on her lower back that is exposed it is someone’s “right to take a photo of it,” that if she didn’t want it looked at she wouldn’t have gotten a tattoo there.  Being instructed to “smile, it’s not so bad.”  Having dollar bills hurled at me over a bar as if I were a piece of trash.  I am told by friends not to let it bother me, and it’s not as if it diminishes my feelings of self-worth or anything, but it still doesn’t feel good.  All I am doing is trying to create an environment that is safe and enjoyable to the majority of people in it.  If you are the one that is standing in the way of the obtainment of that environment, then I am going to ask you to stop and, if you don’t, to leave.  And your meager tips aren’t going to stand in the way of me holding you accountable.  I don’t need the money that badly and I don’t need you to come back.  I find that the people I stand up for, the people I step in for, make much more loyal customers than the drunken idiot I tolerate.  That’s the way it is.  That is my job. Don’t blame me for the fact that you misbehaved, blame yourself.  Go home and think about it.  Figure out why it is that you are not able to act like a normal person in the world. Alcohol is not an excuse and it’s not a license to do, and say, whatever you want, even though a lot of people think it is.  All you have to do is abide by one simple rule:  don’t be an asshole.  Now is that so hard?

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The Case of the “Robbed” Budweiser

9 Apr

Another day behind the stick.  Everything was going pretty much normally… Easter candy spread out in little bowls on the bar, box of matzoh sitting on the food table next to the bagels so no one felt left out.  A regular ordered a Guinness and, of course, the keg kicked.  I went downstairs to change it and had the usual Guinness-induced problems:  sticky sankey, keg too far from the gas source and silly me, not wanting to throw my back out.  So I went back upstairs to the bar to break the bad news to my customer – no Guinness for you – when I encountered quite the sight.  A man standing next to a bike which was balanced on its seat and handle bars, with ear buds in, clutching at his heart yelling “ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”  I looked inquisitively around the bar and then asked the man if he wanted me to call someone.  No, he said, he needed a beer.  Alright then.  Not what I would want if I was having heart pain, but who am I to judge?  So I asked him what he wanted and the annoyance began.

Man:  Just whatever, anything is fine.

Me:  Well, you need to give me a little something to go on.  Do you like hops?  A lager?  A porter maybe?  I have a nice witte.

Man:  Whatever.  I’ll drink tomato soup.

Me:  Um…tomato soup isn’t a beer.  How about a Bud?

Man:  You got Bud on tap?

Me:  Nah, only in the bottle.

Man:  How about a Coors Lite on tap.

Me:  I have none of that shit on tap.  I have Bud, Bud Lite, Heineken, and Amstel Lite all in the bottle.

Man:  I’ll have a bud on tap (he simultaneously, and inexplicably, makes a triangle shape in the air)

I turned towards the back bar, rolled my eyes, fetched a Bud from the ice, and put it on the bar.  “That’ll be 4 dollars.”  He hands me a 50 which I check, twice, to make sure it is legit.  Then I go back about my business tending to customers, chatting, washing glasses.  I then look up to find the man staring at me.  And not just like a casual glance that I happened to catch, but like a for real stare.

Me:  Stop staring at me, it’s making me uncomfortable.

Man:  (staring) I’m not staring. (Starts laughing, still staring.)

Me:  I see you.  You’re staring at me right now.  And what’s so funny?

Man:  Nothing’s funny.

Me:  Then why are you laughing?

Man:  I’m not (insane giggles…staring)

Me: Okay, you know what?  Finish your beer and get out.

Man: You got to ‘spect! (I imagine he meant respect but I was slightly unclear.)

I continue washing glasses and realize that as long as this man is in the bar, I am going to have to be standing right there in front of him because I can’t trust that he won’t do something, or say something, crazy.  I then look up and find him still staring at me.  I look at my Guinness-deprived customer and acknowledge that he has been watching everything go on, including the man staring at me, through the reflection in the mirror.

Me:  Okay, I’ve had enough.  I’m giving you 15 seconds to finish up you beer and get out of my bar.

Man:  You got to ‘spect!  This is my beer.  I bought it.  I’m drinking it.

He then continues drinking the beer, ever so slowly, while staring at me.

Me:  Okay, out.  Get out.  This is not a discussion.  This is not a negotiation.  I have had enough of your staring and your bullshit heart attack noises.  Get the fuck out of my bar.

The man continues to argue with me then when he realizes that my stare is far more intimidating than his, decides to leave, taking his beer with him.  Oh no.  No no no no no.  So, I walk around the bar and chase him outside.  Luckily, my boyfriend and one of his friends is out there. My boyfriend tells this man he can’t have his beer outside and puts his hand on the dudes bike so he can’t get away.  I then walk outside and demand he gives me the beer back.  He says no, it’s his beer, he has a receipt (my bar does not print receipts).  So, I reach across his bike, grab the beer out of his hand and storm back inside.  So what does the man do?  He calls the cops on me for stealing his beer.  Seriously.  I have “robbed” – his, word, not mine – his beer from him which was, apparently, his possession even though he was breaking the law by having an open container on the street and making me responsible for a fine if the cops happened to come by.  Since it was about 5pm on a Sunday afternoon (Easter, no less!) none of the cops really had anything to do so within about 5 minutes up pulled 5 cop cars and one ambulance to respond to some crazy man screaming about how I had robbed his beer.  They blocked the entire 4 lane avenue for about 15 minutes.  After they decided that this man was, indeed, out of his mind and sent him on his way, a few of the cops stuck their head in and, jokingly, asked for a Guinness.  I was all out.

Tags: , , , , ,

Bartender Meets Broccoli People

26 Mar

This past Valentine’s Day my boyfriend, with a nod to the fact that I, along with countless other people think Valentine’s Day is silly, met me for dinner with a bouquet of broccoli.  This was great for two reasons.  First, he was able to hide it behind his back and whip it around like a more traditional arrangement and second, we could eat it for dinner the next day.

Fast forward one month.

At work yesterday — I tend bar a few times a week — two people walked in, maybe a couple maybe not.  He heads straight to the bathroom and she meanders near the bar, phone in one hand, head of broccoli in the other.  Wow, I think to myself, someone has the same sense of humor as my boyfriend.  What are the odds?  He returns from the bathroom, they order a bottle of wine, I don’t ask about the broccoli.  I tend to my other customers and a few minutes later glance up at them to assess the level of their beverages.  I then notice that the male half of this duo is eating the broccoli.  He is not breaking off little florets and munching them but instead is taking large bites out of the head of broccoli that appears to be roughly three quarters the size of his face.  Strange.  It happened to be busy at the bar so I was running around a little but I did manage to inform one or two (or three or four) of my other customers of the oddity occurring in the middle of the bar.  I again return to the couple and, much to my surprise, notice that the female half is now gnawing on the broccoli stem since the florets have been largely depleted.  I don’t know how many of you have tried eating non-peeled, non-cooked broccoli stems but it is no easy feat.  She, however, was really going at it and seemed to be making some progress.  I rush down to the far end of the bar to tell one of the aforeinformed customers about the new turn of events.  She decides to get to the bottom of the situation.  She does a cursory drive-by of the unfolding ordeal and then, on her return trip while the girl is in the bathroom turns to the guy and the following conversation unfolds:

Curious Customer:  You have a bloody mary?

Broccoli Boy (with wine glass and small broccoli floret in hand):  No.  Wine.

CC:  Oh, I thought that was celery in your hand.  I see now that it’s broccoli.

BB:  It’s my spirit totem.

CC:  …………….

I had heard of a spirit animal before but never a spirit totem.  Turns out they are roughly the same thing although upon doing some cursory internet research I couldn’t find anyone who had a piece of broccoli, or other form of vegetable, as their spirit totem.  It seems to me kind of dangerous and short-sighted to eat your lifelong spirit guide.  I decided right then that I would allow these spirit totem-eating medical students* to entertain themselves in the corner with a rousing game of Taboo.  I did not want to be a recipient of any bad karma related to the consumption of the totem.  I washed a few glasses and then in walked this normal-looking young gentleman in a grey LSU hoody.  He takes a look at the taps and then,

Normal-Look Guy:  What’s your favorite beer on tap right now?

Me:  I really like the Tommyknocker Pick Axe IPA.  It’s a more discreet IPA and it’s fun to say.

NLG:  What color is it?

Me:  Umm….?  Sort of light brown?

NLG:  Yea, that sounds good!

I was confused.  I had never had someone order a beer from me solely based off color.  And then wouldn’t you know it he went over and sat with the broccoli people.  I should have known.

*If I found out that my doctor went around to bars eating raw broccoli and calling it his spirit totem I would probably look for a new doctor.  Just saying.

Tags: , ,

Newer Entries →