Archive for January, 2012

Dave A., Mira Mesa, CA. GULPU.COM

January 28, 2012

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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Jesse W., Vista CA. GULPU.COM

January 21, 2012

I was in the last hour of a double getting ready to close out my last tab when a mother in her mid-twenties came in with her two sons. They looked to be around nine or ten, and were extremely loud. The mother was too engrossed in her cell phone conversation to care. When I went to greet them I noticed the kids had dumped sugar all over the table and were now doing the same with the salt and pepper. I offered them drinks and when she finally put her phone down she demanded a Long Island Iced Tea.

She was on the phone again when I returned with the drinks and the kids were now pouring sugar directly into their mouths. In the span of a minute they had each swallowed three packets worth of sugar. This whole time the mother was on her phone. She held her finger up to signal for me to wait. I did so for another several minutes before giving up and walking away. As soon as I did I heard her yell “Hey” as loud as she could. I begrudgingly returned to the table. As I did I caught the end of her phone conversation which included the words “stupid fucking waiter…”

She hung up the phone.

“Is there any alcohol in this because it tastes awfully weak?”

As she spoke I could smell the alcohol steaming off her breath. I tried to explain that there was no such thing as a weak Long Island, but she wasn’t having it. Even though she had drank half of it I brought her a new one.

I took the food orders as well as another Long Island order and walked away. All three of them got burgers, although the two kids were sharing one. By the time the food came out she was ready for her third Long Island in twenty minutes. When I returned with her drink she was sitting at the table by herself. The kids were dumping sugar on all the other tables in the dining room and screeching at the top of their lungs. I waited for her to say something, but when it became evident that she was okay ignoring the little bastards I intervened.

“Hey guys. Foods ready. How about you go join your Mom.”

The response from both of them was to shove their middle fingers in my face. My patience dwindled but I fought the urge to strangle them.

“Excuse me,” the mother yelled.

I returned to the table. She told me not to speak to her children because I wasn’t their father. I cringed at the thought that someone actually had sex with this awful woman, not just once, but twice. She waved me away and ordered another Long Island.  When I returned the kids were sitting on the floor punching each other.

She had inhaled her burger, but informed me that her kids hadn’t liked theirs. I looked at their burger. It hadn’t been touched. I wondered if the bastards were too full on sugar and stupidity to be able to eat anything more. I asked her how they knew they didn’t like it if they hadn’t even tasted it. She was grossly offended and demanded her check. I took the kids burger off the check in hopes of avoiding any confrontation. She informed me that it was unethical for me to charge her for all four of her Long Island Iced Tea’s when the first one had been so weak. I swallowed my pride and apologized and took one off the bill paying for it with money out of my own pocket. They left a half hour after we were supposed to be closed. In addition to not tipping the dining room was trashed by her demon seeds. As I wiped sugar off of everything I actually found myself grateful for our encounter as it gave me a newfound respect for birth control. I beg you mam please forget how you got here.

Get Stoned

January 14, 2012

The next person who walks up to my bar and says they want a Stone is going to get just that. In fact the only reason I don’t keep an actual stone behind the bar to give to people when they order it is because I believe the animals would throw it at me in a fit of arrogance and embarrassment. Stone is a brewery, not a beer. You can’t walk into a bar and order a brewery as bars serve individual beers not the entire brewery. I assure you Stone does not make a beer called Stone.

It’s even more fun when we do a Stone beer event and a couple of geniuses wearing arrogant bastard tee-shirts and hats stitched with a Stone saying order a couple of Stones. That conversation goes a little like this:

“Hey bro, can I get two Stones,” says the genius.

“Stone what?” I ask.

“It’s a beer.”

“Right, but which one we have fifteen of them currently on draft?”

The genius confers with his buddy and they both seem very confused. After a minute-long discussion they are ready to make a second attempt at ordering.

“The hoppy one,” the genius says confidently.

“We have five different IPA’s from them on right now.”

“Yeah, two of those.”

“Which one?”

“Stone IPA.”

“We don’t have Stone IPA, but we do…”

The genius interrupts.

“You don’t have Stone IPA?” he asks disgustedly.

I shake my head “No”. They are appalled as if I have just told them that our restaurant doesn’t have food. To them that is the equivalent of a bar that doesn’t have Stone IPA.

“Just give me two Guinnesses bro.”

For a brief moment my mind tells me that with the proper guidance I could find these two rocket scientists a different IPA that they might even like more than Stone IPA, but decide that these two deserve a Guinness instead of something hoppy and delicious.

If that conversation didn’t hurt your brain you are probably drinking a Bud Light right now. Welcome to my world. Craft beer is big in Southern California and Stone is the generic face of the movement. Don’t get me wrong, Stone is a trend-setting microbrewery that not only paved the way for themselves but also for microbreweries everywhere. However, due to Stone’s popularity outside of the beer community a lot of people who try to order their beer wind up sounding like idiots. They get so swept away by the legend of Stone IPA or Stone Pale that they refuse to try another beer of the same style from a different brewery. What’s even worse is they won’t try a different style of beer from Stone, which is the brewery they claim to think of so highly.

Here’s a heads up, if a bar doesn’t have Stone IPA don’t get a Guinness or Bud Light. Get a different IPA and realize that there is good beer outside of Stone. There’s nothing wrong with that. Stone brewery doesn’t care if you drink other brewer’s beer I assure you. Lean on your local bartender to guide you to an acceptable alternative and for the love of all that is holy don’t just ask for a Stone. You sound like a moron when you do and believe me everyone in earshot of you whether they be a fellow customer or employee will proceed to make fun of you as soon as you walk away. Other bars may tolerate this sort of behavior but I no longer will. I am on my way to the store to get a foam Stone that I plan on lying in front of anyone ordering a Stone, that way when they throw it at me it will hurt less than holding a conversation with them did.

GULPU!!!

January 6, 2012

The government has informed me via a sealed letter that due to legal restrictions the website GULP is not available for public use. Apparently, although I can neither confirm nor deny whether what I am about to say is true, the term GULP is the name of some sort of secret government program which the government wishes to keep the general public from learning about. We here at GuerillaDeSwine Productions are used to Government interference in our business and are pleased to announce that what was once GULP.COM is now GULPU.COM! The website is still under construction but the response to our initial announcement of GULPU has been overwhelming. Here is just one of the many GULPU reviews we have already received.

Emily B. San Marcos, CA

Two ex or current streetwalkers walked in the other night. One had on a puffy jacket with a fake fur-line collar while the other had shorts short enough to require two hairdos. When asked if they were eating dinner they exchanged annoyed glances and then replied “yes” with an over exaggerated gasp. After looking at a menu skank one asked if the mac and cheese was really six dollars. I fought the urge to ask her if most restaurants she went to listed fake prices or if maybe she was used to bartering for food. When I answered yes she waved me off in disgust.

They were ready to order when I returned with their drinks. One ordered the Mushroom and Bleu burger, well done, which is a wonderful way to ruin a good piece of meat. The other ordered the mac and cheese she had wished to negotiate down in price earlier. In addition she wanted a grilled cheese. I guess walking the streets called for a constant intake of cheese, amongst other things, into her body. I placed the order and fifteen minutes later it was up. When I placed the food on the table the mac skank let me know that she thought the food had taken way too long. I began to explain that ruining a good burger by ordering it well done took extra time but she waved me off before I could finish.

The burger skank flagged me down after taking two bites from her burger. She said there was something funky tasting on it. I pointed out that the mushroom and bleu burger had bleu cheese on it and perhaps that was what gave off a slightly funky taste. She said that wasn’t it. She loved bleu cheese. I took her plate away and had the kitchen make a plain well done burger.

The mac skank flagged me down. She pointed at her mac. She asked if the mac and cheese was really six dollars. I nodded yes. She waved me off. I returned with the well done burger. They both let me know this time that they thought the food had taken way too long. They proceeded to scarf the food down as if it was their first meal in days and that their figure-obsessed pimp may be lurking around a corner somewhere ready to smack them down for eating.

I cleared their plates and listened as the mac skank trash talked the food and restaurant to her friend as if I didn’t exist. Without even looking at me or stopping her conversation she signaled for the check. They left in a hurry so I immediately checked the check book. There was money in it but it was eleven cents short. I decided against going after them when I realized they clearly needed that eleven cents way more than I did. I would have rather paid for their food and once the kitchen was finished making it just throw it away rather than having those two in at all.

Please don’t come back, whoever you are.

Thanks Emily for being a part of GULPU! While we are updating our software for the GULPU.COM launch feel free to leave your reviews in the comment area of this blog.


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