Posts Tagged ‘restaurant staff’

Review Evolution

May 17, 2016

There is a four letter website out there that stands for everything that is wrong with social media. This website allows any asshole with a cell phone to spew hate filled reviews attacking people in the service industry because they are upset that there is no Amber Ale on tap. They seem to have no control over what slanderous rhetoric its users post. Anyone who has ever waited or bussed a table, tended bar, been a floor or general manager or worked the door as a security guard will tell you that 90% of what you read on this website is bullshit usually made up by a user under the influence of alcohol. I understand that speech is free in this country but personally attacking an employee of an establishment you patronize, while drunk and recently ejected, does not equate to freedom of speech in my mind.

I have so many negative reviews about me that it is impossible to count. I have been called both racist and sexist on this site. I have been accused of being a pathetic little man drunk with the power of running a restaurant on this site. I have been referred to as a shameless prick who inexcusably backs his staff on this site. One time some schmuck actually posted a picture of a dog taking a shit and had the nerve to compare me to the pile of dung on this site.

Mind you these nasty things have been written about me because I was just trying to do my job. When was the last time something that happened at your job got blasted out on the internet with the express purpose of making you look like a jackass? Think hard. For me it’s much easier to recall because it happens every several months. If you want to pull me aside and say these awful things to my face that’s fine. It most likely won’t end well but one way or another it will end. Don’t be a coward and run to your laptop or tablet and blatantly make shit up that threatens my livelihood. Once it goes up on this site it is there for the public to read and now not just one person thinks I am all these awful things but the entire world is encouraged to make the same rash judgement.

So, you say to me, “It’s just a silly little website. Nobody cares that much about what is written there. Readers are smart enough to decipher the legitimate reviews versus the bullshit ones.”  First of all, the people who use this site are not that smart. Trust me I deal with them on a daily basis. If they were in a spelling bee versus a stack of bricks I’m taking the bricks, big time. Second of all people do care. I have seen people cry after reading a nasty review that was written about them. I’ve met people in this industry who have lost their job because they got too many bad reviews most of which were bullshit. If people didn’t care what was written on this shitbag site then certain restaurants wouldn’t discount customers who write five star reviews about them.

I have been in or around the restaurant business for 20 plus years and have been in the craft beer industry the last ten and what I have found is that people in this industry care about what they do, a lot. This is a career not some summer job motherfucker and every day I go to work I try to be better than I was the day before. When things don’t go well I lose sleep or drink to excess usually both. When my teammates have a bad day I feel it, because I care about them too. We work long hours on our feet trying extremely hard to provide our patrons with stellar product and service.

To do all that and then have some punk ass permanently stoned college hipster or some Quaalude popping soccer mom who have never waited a table in their life tell the internet that I suck at my job is something I am no longer able to just sit here and take. In fact, a very good friend of mine and I are going to open a restaurant for all these expert reviewers of a business they have never been employed in and it’s going to be called “Go Fuck Yourself” (patent pending). That way when they don’t like how things go down in our house they can reference the sign on the front door.

Service industry people unite. They want to write about us then let’s write about them. There is a website called GULPU.com™ coming to you soon. It’s our site to talk about how awful they are. For now, get stress off your chest with us at https://www.facebook.com/GULPU/

That way the next time some redneck with dip spit dribbling down his chin tries to fight you because you wouldn’t serve his pregnant girlfriend alcohol the real story will be heard too. Oh yeah, I almost forgot “Fuck Yelp”.

Advertisements

Holiday Winter Storm

January 16, 2014

Every year a certain local restaurant has their annual holiday party, and every year they end up at the pub, and every year they treat our staff, our customers and the pub itself with zero respect. It is like feeding time at the raptor cage from the moment they stumble up until the moment they get thrown out. This restaurant shall remain nameless due to the fact that I have the utmost respect for seventy-five percent of their staff who are all important members of the craft beer community. It was that fact that made me hesitate even writing this but the level of douchebaggery the other twenty-five percent displayed this year was far too egregious for me to stay silent.

It’s 4 pm on a Monday afternoon. Our happy hour regulars are settling in to their stools discussing the day’s events over a nice frosty pint of ale. The door opens and in walks a guy with a hat representing the restaurant he works at. He walks to the far side of the bar and sits down. The bartender approaches him to offer him a beer. He mentions where he works and says that he is meeting a party in upwards of 50 people here to celebrate their holiday party.

I know what you are thinking, 50 people on a quiet Monday afternoon that will be a great boon for business, and you’re right. However, most people who are part of a party of 50 have enough brain power to call ahead days in advance and I would be happy with even an hour’s heads up. Then you think about this particular group and realize that they work at a restaurant, allegedly. Here’s an idea, pull your fancy diamond bedazzled smart phone out of your ass and apply it to your ear so whatever restaurant you plan on destroying has a chance to make sure the level of ass kicking is a manageable one.

If I’d known that a bunch of drunk restaurant employees were approaching my bar I would have had a dark corner prepared to herd them into so my regular customers wouldn’t have to be bothered with their idiocy. I would have gladly set up a cage on the far side of our patio where they could yell and punch each other in the balls all to their hearts’ desire. When you add in that these people have been at their work drinking free high in alcohol beers all afternoon you understand how potentially damaging this group could be. Who ends a holiday party at 4 in the afternoon on a Monday and releases their shit faced employees like a roving Jager-stinking fifty person zombie apocalypse upon the local community? That doesn’t sound like responsible serving to me.

The regulars were shocked by the sudden influx of younger people. They were intrigued for less than a minute and all motioned to close their tabs out immediately. I would have done the same as I wouldn’t want to get bumped by drunken 22 year olds who are fighting each other to get a drink faster. We went four deep at the bar which is fun but getting string ordered by people who work in the bar industry is frustrating and annoying.

Once the initial rush mellowed we were able to start letting this screaming band of bar amateurs know that they needed to chill the fuck out and start treating this place with a sense of respect. They would listen for a few minutes and then start freaking out uncontrollably again. Things really started going downhill when I found a bottle of spiced Jager sitting over by the pool table. First of all if you are going to sneak liquor into a bar make it some real shit not some water downed bitchafied version of Jager.

Second of all, now people are going to start getting kicked out. I found the first one lying on the ground in front of the pub. This was at about 630. I kicked him in his ribs and he shook to life. He claimed he was waiting on a ride. I told him to leave the property. When he argued I asked him if people were allowed to lie on the ground in front of his restaurant. He shook his head no and stumbled his way down towards Denny’s. An hour and a half later a girl showed up with a baby looking for him.

The second one was already on watch for puffing on her e-cigarette inside even after being warned twice not to do so. As she took a seat at the bar she saw a plate of food. After blurting out that while she didn’t know whose food it was she was going to eat it anyway, she  proceeded to eat it anyway. When I pulled her out she was in tears saying how embarrassed she was and rightly so. I asked her to leave and when she argued I asked her if at her restaurant they allowed customers to randomly eat off other customers’ plates. She looked at me and stuttered out a tear and snot soaked yes.

The third one was most likely the oldest member of the staff left and seemed to be in some sort of management role with the restaurant. When I had first discovered the Jager bottle he had assumed the responsibility of gaining control of the crowd and helping us make sure his people didn’t do anything else stupid. That plan was a bust due to the fact that he might have been one of the more intoxicated people there more so than most of the kids who were ten years younger than him.

He had mentioned something about getting everyone to move to the bowling alley since my staff and I made it clear that is was in everyone’s best interest that they move along. An hour later he said they were going to go bowling. When I looked around and saw that was not the case I referenced about how lucky the bowling alley staff would be to get to serve him and his staff. He then told me to “not be an asshole” and that was the end of his evening and any evenings he ever thought he would be welcome back because he is most certainly not welcome.

At the end of this month it will be our Holiday party and the entire staff including myself will be letting loose and having a hot God damn good time. There will be crying, vomiting and spousal abandonment.  Our debauchery will be behind closed doors where the only people getting offended will be ourselves. One word of advice to any bar or restaurant who is planning a holiday party sometime in the near to distant future and that is open bar at your place and make sure there is no way to get out so that any staff- wide insanity does nothing to bother the rest of humanity.

BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!

That’s A Record

March 29, 2013

I recently received a letter from a certain four letter website that legally I am not allowed to name in this blog. I assumed it was another restraining order against me which would put my grand total up to seventeen. Upon opening it I was shocked to find out that it had nothing to do with legal rights at all. Instead it was a letter congratulating me on breaking the website’s all time record for most one star reviews in a six hour period.

At first I was highly offended and began to draw up a plan for revenge against each person who dared to say I was bad at my job. Sanity settled in shortly thereafter as I realized that the average IQ of people who write negative reviews on that slanderous four letter website is lower than that of a bag of dirt.

I received three prizes for my record setting performance. One was a free lifetime subscription to the four letter site I shall not name legally. Unfortunately since I would never set foot on such an asinine website I elected to donate that portion of my prize to the charity of my choice, “The Old Broken Down Stripper Home” located in Las Vegas, NV.

My second prize was a plaque with each review written in the blood of the human of my choice. Third was an audio version of each review read aloud by none other the President of the United States, Barack Obama. I know what you’re thinking how on earth could that be possible? Four negative reviews in 360 minutes, this guy must be the biggest schmuck in the world?

Anyone ignorant enough to say such a thing about such a fine author has obviously never experienced a Sunday Wing Night at the fine restaurant I work at. From 4pm to 10 pm I witness human beings who act like a pack of zombies who have stumbled across an elementary school at recess. Wing sauce and ranch dressing is splayed across the walls like blood from a gruesome murder scene.

Not everyone who comes through the door on a wing night is an animal. Only about thirty-four percent are. Of course that thirty-four percent is enough to drive a normally calm and quiet lad to the brink of murderous rage. They are entitled, rude, and disrespectful and swear that people who work at restaurants are complete morons.  What they don’t realize is that they are actually morons and if their own parents saw how they acted in public on wing night they would most likely commit suicide.

These four particular morons whose ridiculous personal attacks on me on social media will soon be displayed in one of their blood (guess which one) happened to all agree that I am unfit to perform my job. While obviously I dispute this ridiculous claim I will allow you, the general drunken public, to decide for yourselves.

The following is a timeline obtained from the Encinitas Police Department who were tailing me for an unrelated disturbance. These notes are from the afternoon of Sunday, March 10 2013 from the hours of 4pm (when wing night begins) and 10 pm (when wing night ends). The officer on duty gladly offered up his retelling of my interaction with all four of the swine who felt the need to shit talk me in a public forum:

4:01 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a young punk by the first fire pit. Apparently the punk has ordered a plate of wings and without eating even one asked for a to-go box. The restaurant manager explains that due to the ridiculously cheap price for wings that the special applies to dine-in customers only.

The young punk throws a fit claiming he ordered them with the intention of eating them there but he had suddenly and mysteriously lost his appetite. The restaurant manager laughs in his face, grabs him a box and tells him next week this won’t be allowed.

5:57 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a couple sat at a table by the front window. The girl who has just turned twenty-one claims there is no vodka in her vodka cranberry. The manager explains all his bartenders pour at least a shot and a half in all their mixed drinks. She argues. He offers her a free shot. She declines.

The restaurant manager brings her a free shot anyways. She begins to cry. The couple gets up to leave and despite consuming food and their drinks have done so without paying. In the middle of an extremely busy restaurant the restaurant manager has to chase the couple down in the parking lot to get payment all the while being belligerently belittled by this hysterically crying skank.

7:10 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a table of twenty-two year old stoners who are so high they can barely even complete a sentence. There are five empty plates of wings in front of the four of them. They claim that they only ordered four plates of wings yet are being charged for five. The restaurant manager points out that they ate all the wings.

The stoners refuse to pay for the wings they claim they didn’t order. There is a standoff. The restaurant manager begins to reach for his stainless steel bottle opener referred to by most as Excalibur, which it is assumed he plans to use to beat these dickbags about the head with. He thinks better of it and begrudgingly takes the wings off the bill. As they leave he informs them that he knows they ordered all five plates and that they were never welcome back.

9:35 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a table of college kids. He has been waved over by a twenty-three old blonde girl dressed like a whore. She doesn’t like her beer she ordered and wants to exchange it for something different. The restaurant manager points to the beer menu where it clearly states there are no refunds on beer and that he can get her something else but that she will be charged for both. She gasps. He asks if she would like another drink. She shakes her head no disgustedly and dismissively waves him off.

Twenty four minutes later the same future common street walker who didn’t like her beer approaches the restaurant manager as he is helping to break down the host stand. She tells him that he was rude and the way he treated her had ruined her night. She was embarrassed by their interaction and didn’t think he was equipped to handle a customer service position. She recommended he let the rest of the staff handle customers since he was such an asshole and that she would never be back. The restaurant manager gladly thanked her for that last fact.

I would like to personally thank Officer Jon Domino of the Encinitas PD for donating his notes so I could show you, the general drunken public, the kind of butt fuckery my staff and I have to deal with on a weekly basis. What I found shocking upon reflecting on my interactions with the angry reviewers who put my name in the record books was that any one of them knew how to read or write. It just goes to show what kind of low class element this wreck less four letter website that I legally can’t name empowers to be dicks.

Churchill’s Renaissance IV

March 1, 2013

March 2nd 2013 promises to be the greatest day in the history of beer. At 11 am tomorrow Churchill’s Renaissance IV, A New Hope, begins and this year’s installation will prove itself to be the greatest craft beer and food festival San Diego has ever seen. Now, for my money that means Churchill’s Renaissance IV will be the greatest craft beer and food festival in the history of the entire world.

This year’s Renaissance marks the ten year anniversary of publican Ivan Derezin’s hostile takeover of the pub. Under his watch it has transformed from a back alley rug munching swingers bar into the premier craft beer and food pub anywhere. To honor this momentous event Derezin and his staff have devoted themselves to making Churchill’s Renaissance IV the greatest party that you, the general drunken public, has ever had the pleasure of getting shit faced at.

Our draft lineup tomorrow is being hailed as the greatest assortment of craft beer ever offered anywhere. Certifiable Craft Beer Connoisseur Jordan Wilson has done a lot of things he will most likely live to regret to put together such a rare collection of beers. Two of the highlights of this year’s lineup are Bear Republic’s Churchill X IPA and Mother Earth’s Winsten Tenth Anniversary DIPA both of which are being released for the first time anywhere tomorrow.

Last year’s line began at 3:10 am Saturday morning, seven hours and fifty minutes before the pub even opened. As I write this it is 3:24 am Friday morning and this year’s line has already begun. I left the pub forty five minutes ago and saw the first Finest Hour fanatics huddled around fires heating up cold cans of cream of corn as they anxiously awaited Saturday morning to arrive.

These dedicated people will be awarded with not just first choice of the fine beer but also of the amazing craft food we will be offering that day. Mix Master Chef AG Warfield has done the impossible. He has crafted a food menu that rivals our amazing beer menu. When you taste one dish you will want to taste them all. I suggest you bring a belt with seventeen extra notches because once you start eating AGIII’s food you won’t ever want to stop.

Serving this amazing beer and food will be Churchill’s crack staff of craft experts who were voted Best Looking Restaurant Staff for 2012 in this year’s restaurant edition of Penthouse. We are all going to be working extremely hard on Renaissance and will all at one point either be on the verge of freaking out or actually freaking out. So please remember your manners and understand when 850 people show up at a pub all wanting the same thing drinks and food might take a little bit longer than usual to come out.

If you would really like to help us speed up service I highly recommend that you walk through our doors already knowing exactly what it is you want to drink. That means when you approach the bar do so with your first round ready to be ordered. When faced with a bar that is ten deep and a server ticket printer churning out 200 tickets a minute I have no time for you to try to think about what you are ordering. When I ask you what you want if you hesitate for even a half second I will be gone faster than I appeared.

People who are prepared and able to order four beers not by style and not by brewery but by the actual name of the beer will easily get everything they want all day long. Another suggestion is once you have ordered, instead of watching me weave in and out of my equally insanely busy bar mates please pull out your method of payment. Having your cash and credit card ready saves us all precious seconds and allows me to move on to the next customer craving my attention. Trust me your fellow drunk will thank you.

While this all may sound intimidating don’t fear because despite the massive crowd, overworked staff and the possibility of vomit around every corner Churchill’s Renaissance IV will be the most fun you’ve had since you lost your virginity. So get those tents ready because the madness has already begun and if you have any chance of getting a coveted pour off the last keg of 2012 Stone Bro in existence I suggest you get in line an hour ago.

Tony D., East Vista, CA. GULPU

April 28, 2012

A husband and wife walk into the bar. He is a fifty year old wearing a Hawaiian shirt half buttoned and she is homely and half his age. She is pushing a stroller with their child inside it. Most bars aren’t kid friendly, but since our establishment is both a restaurant and a pub we encourage families to be comfortable there. In fact a lot of our regulars bring in their sweet, well-mannered and well-behaved children all the time and not only do we as employees embrace them but other customers do as well.

This is why when this man strolled up with his kid and his darts no one really thought much of it. He approaches the bar. After waiting less than a minute he grows impatient and begins waving his cash in the air. I walk over to him.

“Jack and Coke. And whatever she wants,” he says.

He points over his shoulder at the woman he walked in with who is frantically trying to find a safer place than a crowded dart room in a busy pub for her to store her child. As she does she dodges darts until she finally finds a safe corner for her kid and her to sit. She begins to order, but does so in what sounded like German. She spoke as if she expected me to understand her. I stopped her finally and began to respond in English. She held up her finger and waved it in my face before turning and calling for the man in the Hawaiian shirt. He was playing darts so it took a minute to get his attention. She waved him over. He leaned on the bar, annoyed.

“I said a Jack and Coke.”

“Right, what is she having?” I asked pointing at his wife.

He nodded.

“Vodka Tonic. Make it the cheap stuff.”

I made their drinks and by the time I returned he was back to playing darts. I placed the drinks in front of the foreigner and told her it was nine dollars. She stared blankly at me. I motioned money with my fingers and she finally got it pulling out a twenty. I gave her some change which she pocketed.

Then the crying began. It started out quietly and brief, but slowly transformed into the sound of a constant scream. It was the kid. I scanned the bar and received annoyed looks from my happy hour regulars. The screaming stopped but continued to ring in my ears for several seconds longer. The guy returns with an empty glass.

“I don’t think there was any whiskey in that drink so make this one a double,” he says as he waves his money in my face.

I pull out a glass and a shot glass. I measure the drink to exactly two ounces and top it off with coke. He pays without tipping.

“Do you guys have any snacks? She’s hungry,” he says as he nods to his mail order bride.

I slide him a menu. He slides it back.

“No, no, I meant like peanuts or crackers or something.”

“No we do not, sir.”

“What kind of restaurant is this?”

He goes back to playing darts. I serve some other people when out of the corner of my eye I see him standing halfway in the doorway to the kitchen. I rush over and find him harassing the kitchen staff for soup crackers which unfortunately they give to him. I inform the man he is not to be bothering the kitchen and he walks away without acknowledging me.

I return to the bar and see that his wife is dousing the soup crackers in Tabasco sauce and shoving them down her throat. The screaming begins again shortly after that. The mother tries to console the child but to no avail. The father keeps playing darts not even looking over at her or the child. He returns to the bar and orders another double. I inform him that it would be appreciated if he could get the kid to stop screaming. He shrugs me off and returns to the dart board again without leaving a tip.

The screaming stops and everyone sitting at the bar and those sitting in the section of tables to the left of the dartboard release a collective sigh of relief to be free from the piercing sound of an angry child. He orders another double without tipping. Five minutes later the screaming starts right back up. The mother has since given up and stares blankly off into space while the father never acknowledges either one of them.

This happened every Friday for a month straight. It was to the point that customers were complaining about the noise. Both parents had been warned every week, but finally it became too much to bare. I was forced to walk out from behind the bar, pull the man to the side and inform him that his five year old child was 86ed from the establishment. He looked shocked. He glanced over at his screaming child briefly before turning back to me.

“If they wait out front can I stay?”

After fighting off the urge to call Child Protective Services I sent the whole fucked up family packing and thankfully have not seen them since.

St. Patty’s Day 2012

March 16, 2012

St. Patrick’s Day is a celebration of Irish culture. To Americans that means let’s get wasted. Apparently in this country we believe getting shitfaced while being all decked out in green is a great way to celebrate Irish tradition. I am not saying that all Irish people are a bunch of drunks, but I believe that is what most Americans think. My theory is that Americans use Irish culture as an excuse to get wasted because we as a people are a bunch of drunks.

Amongst bar employees and regulars St. Patty’s Day is also known as Amateur Night. Everyone who never goes out drinking at a bar decides to come out that day. It is New Year’s Eve on crack and instead of people starting to get wasted at 8pm most people begin lining their livers with liquor around noon. It is Mardi Gras except the beads are replaced with funny green hats, shirts with dirty limericks and green skinny jeans. Guinness is consumed at an alarming rate and the shot of the day is the shillelagh which is normally dropped into a half pint of Guinness. The name of this is an Irish Car Bomb and it is yet another example of misguided Americans thinking that they are honoring the Irish.

The combination of amateurs chugging pints of Guinness topped with Jameson and Bailey’s means anything can happen. There will be vomit, and a lot of it. Beware and get ready to duck and cover the second you see a curdled shillelagh floating in the beard of a man who has just shot his fourth car bomb all the while that cottage pie he just scarfed down is quickly working its way to returning itself to this world. Our bar backs will be wearing rain slickers that day so any unwanted fluids flying at them will rinse off with a quick hosing.

When faced with a bar full of people who go out so little that they don’t understand the rules of the bar, as employees we have no rules. That means there is zero tolerance on everything. Since it is impossible to properly enforce a zero tolerance policy upon 500 drunken people I will be personally monitoring the crowd myself. I will be dressed as a leprechaun and in my hand I will hold a real shillelagh which is a wooden walking stick with a large knob at the top. My shillelagh will be encrusted in gold. If I observe anyone getting out of line I will be tapping them on the shoulder with my golden cane to inform them that they have to leave. That means anyone puking, fighting, calling me bro, string ordering, groping other guy’s girlfriends, pissing on the side of the porta potty,  and honestly anyone who rubs me or my staff the wrong way will be getting shoulder tapped by my golden shillelagh.

There is a repeated crime against humanity found on every St. Patty’s day. That is the ordering of a green beer. Beer isn’t green. It’s not supposed to be green. To make beer green you have to put green food coloring or some other liquid in there. There’s no better way to ruin a tasty beer other than sticking random green liquids into it. Not only is it nasty, it’s messy. Any bartender degraded and disrespected enough to be forced to do such a thing suffers both the public humiliation of such an asinine act, but will also be forced to scrub their hands, as well as other body parts depending on individual personal practices clean of the green for days to come.

My advice to bartenders all across the nation on this upcoming St. Patty’s Day is as follows: when that thirty-two year old man wearing a fake afro wig sprouting out from underneath a green top hat with his cheeks painted green, wearing hippie glasses, a green tee-shirt that says “Kiss me I’m Irish”, finished off with green skinny jeans and green converse, approaches your bar and orders a green beer slam a Heineken down, double charge him and as soon as he pays point him out to the leprechaun with the golden shillelagh and trust that swift bar justice will served.

Churchill’s Renaissance III Revisited

March 10, 2012

We survived Renaissance, barely, and once again Churchill’s Pub and Grille proved to have the best selection of craft beer and food served by the finest restaurant/bar staff in the world. That’s right, I said THE WORLD. Feel free to further expand our egos at the pub by showering us with over exaggerated compliments in regards to our exceptional skills. That being said I reiterate that some of us barely survived and that’s not even in regards to the staff. Sure we worked our asses off but you, the general drunken public, drank and ate your asses off and for that we love you.

The line to enter the pub allegedly started at 3:30 Saturday morning. We have since confirmed this to be true by consulting one of the many secret cameras we have hidden in and around the pub. By 6:30 it was already leaking out of our parking lot. When I walked up at ten it had grown to a thousand according to the crack head at the halfway house who repeatedly cursed at me to stay off his porch.

At 10:55 the staff shared one last moment of meditation followed up by a group hug. Then, the doors flung open and the madness began. People bum rushed the bar in a frenzied attempt at being the first to order Churchill’s Finest Hour. Waves and waves of customers slowly marched in and filled the entire bar, restaurant and patio. Ninety-Nine percent of the crowd was polite and patient as they realized that amongst the insanity the entire staff was doing everything in their power to keep people drunk, fat and happy. Those who were rude or impatient usually only got served once.

The vomit level was low much to the relief of our bar backs who were forced to bring their own puke buckets from home. The one glaring upheaval did unfortunately happen in the fire pit which was thankfully not on. Anyone who has ever caught a whiff of a flaming pool of vomit knows how horrible it can be and that it often leads to a ferocious cycle of group puking.

While most customers ordered efficiently so we could help them as quickly as possible there were those who decided that they were more important than all the other customers waiting for food and drink. That’s right string order boy, I am talking to you. At a quiet bar where it’s just you and your buddies making the bartender or server make multiple back to back trips for you is accepted, although still frowned upon. At a bar filled to max capacity with rabid beer aficionados foaming at the mouth to be served a drink this sort of behavior is unacceptable. If you can’t order all your drinks at once you are making others suffer. Even at my most busy and scatter brained I can handle up to eighty-one drinks in my mind at once, so please don ‘t be scared to try to overwhelm me. The quicker I move on from you the quicker I can help the cute girl in the corner, who if I keep serving in a speedy fashion may get drunk enough for you to get lucky.

Other than string orders the only other glaring ordering offense was found in those people not ready to be waited upon. As I pour beers I scan the bar and have a pecking order in mind of who I am going to serve first. It goes regulars first and then it switches to first come first serve. I generally plan out the next five people I am going to help even before I have approached any of them. If I ask you what you want and you look away to consult a friend or beer list then by the time you face the bar again all you will see is the back of my head. I will return, eventually, but that pecking order I just talked about, you’re now at the bottom.

The ultimate asshole award for the day goes to that idiot I personally had kicked out myself. While I doubt he lacks the ability to read I hope he gets a hold of this because I have a message for him.

“No, bro, I didn’t think you were drunk enough to be cut off, I just plain didn’t like you. Your constant groping and sexual harassment of every woman who walked up to bar coupled with your loud and obnoxious voice/laugh/personality/presence/face/existence was what did you in. Had I not been stuck behind the bar I would have grabbed that cell phone you were shit talking me on and shoved it so far up your ass your tongue would be text messaging every time you spoke.”

Despite these minor complaints Churchill’s Renaissance III, The Revenge of Ivan, proved to be the greatest day in the history of beer just as some brilliant writer predicted a week ago. What made it so great was the food, the beer and most importantly the people, both staff and clientele. For that I thank and applaud everyone involved in such a wonderful event. The next big pub event will be St. Patrick’s Day, which compared to the distinguished esteem of Churchill’s Renaissance will be a bro-infested slop fest filled with strewn jello shots and people’s wives being left for dead on bathroom floors. Can’t wait!


%d bloggers like this: