A guy walks up to the bar wearing skinny jeans and a V-neck shirt cut just low enough so you can see a portion of his chest tattoo which is undoubtedly the lyrics to some terrible Dave Matthews song. With a skinny mustache to match his kid’s size small jeans this guy has set my hipster alert for the day to a code orange. It’s busy and we are about four rows of customers deep. I am helping the customer next to him. As I am taking this person’s order the hipster interrupts. I ignore him but he does it again. I let him know I am helping someone else and that I will be with him in one moment. He is annoyed. I help three more people who have been waiting longer before I return to him.
“Finally”, he mutters under his breath.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Nothing. Give me a beer.”
“Okay. What beer?”
I point over my shoulder at my 50 tap draft system.
“Holy shit. You guys got a lot of beer.”
My patience wears thin as more customers pile up at my bar.
“You want a beer list?” I ask.
“I don’t do lists,” he says as he waves his hand in my face. “Just give me your favorite.”
“What style?”
“Doesn’t matter bro. I love all types of beer.”
I pour the most expensive beer I have on tap.
“That will be eight dollars. “
I go to help the guy next to him, but apparently the hipster has decided to string order me.
“I need a Newcastle and a vodka and tonic also,” he interrupts.
I finish taking the other person’s order before returning to the hipster.
“A Newcastle and Vodka and Tonic? Who are those for?”
“What?”
“Who are you ordering those drinks for? “
“My friends.”
“I need to see their ID’s.”
“Oh, no, they’re for me.”
“Go get your fucking friends.”
“Fine, watch my beer.”
I help five people in the time it takes him to return. He hands me two ID’s. I look around. His friends aren’t with him. I fight the urge to take his beer back and just ignore him for the rest of the evening.
“I need to see them as well as their ID’s.”
“Come on,” he says as he points at the ID’s, “They’re like thirty.”
“I would love to take your word for it, but I need to make sure the ID’s match the people.”
“Fine, watch my beer.”
I help ten people before he returns with his two friends. I verify the ID’s and go pour their drinks. When I return the hipster has his back to the bar and is engrossed in conversation with his friends.
“Here you go man,” I say as I place the drinks down on the bar.
He doesn’t respond. I repeat myself, this time louder. His friends get his attention. He turns to me.
“Eighteen dollars.”
“Start me a tab.”
“Cool, I just need a credit card.”
“Oh no, I want to pay cash.”
“You can’t run a tab then.”
“Why not?”
“Cuz you need a credit card to run a tab.”
“Just cash me out then.”
“Eighteen dollars.”
I feel the eyes of countless customers concentrated on me as the hipster struggles to pull his wallet out of his pocket because his skinny jeans are too small. When he finally gets his wallet out he slides me a twenty. On my way to the register I take three people’s orders. I return with the hipsters change and he is chatting to a girl who has just walked up. He takes his change.
“She wants a margarita on the rocks with salt.”
I make the drinks for the people I helped on my way to the register first, all of which takes thirty seconds. I make the margarita and hand it to him. He has put the two dollars back into his wallet and the girl already has a margarita in front of her. When he sees the second drink he points at the bartender I am working with.
“He got me.”
“You ordered from me.”
“I thought you forgot about me.”
I walk away and dump the margarita I just made. I help several more people before the hipster waves me down. He points at his beer.
“This is gross. Just give me a Michelob Ultra instead.”
“You told me you liked all beer.”
“I do, but not that.”
“As it states on our beer list we don’t take returns on beer.”
“I told you I don’t do lists bro.”
The urge to grab him by the back of his head and slam his face into the bar is nearly blinding. I decide instead to cut my losses.
“If I give you a Michelob Ultra will you go away?”
He nods. I give him his beer and he still doesn’t tip. In the future when my hipster alert reaches such a high level I will have a Michelob Ultra and my middle finger ready.
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