Posts Tagged ‘schmuck’

I’m No Thief

December 16, 2012

A man in his late thirties approaches my bar in the midst of a busy Friday Happy Hour. He is wearing a skin tight white tee shirt that matches his sparkly white belt that matches his 42 inch wide white watch which matches his white I Phone. Every bone in my body went on immediate douche bag alert, but being the patient man I am I fought the urge to ignore this schmuck while ridiculing him to my regulars sitting close by, and actually decided to serve him.

He orders a dirty vodka martini. After crafting a delicious cocktail for this cockbag I inform him that during Happy Hour his drink costs just four dollars and fifty cents. He gives me a five and I give him his two quarters back which he proceeds to leave on the bar for my tip. While not the desired tip of a dollar it was a tip none the less so my douche bag threat level lowered from a red to an orange (for clarification of color levels for douche bag threat levels please see George W. Bush).

Some time passes before he comes back up to the bar. He orders a dirty vodka martini again which I gladly make. I knew it had to be getting close to seven which is what time Happy Hour is over so I punched his drink into the computer and it rang up as six dollars signifying that it was actually past seven and that any Happy Hour discounts were no longer available.

I returned to captain cock knocker and placed his dirty vodka martini in front of him. He tossed five dollars on the bar. I collected his money and counted it before informing him that Happy Hour was now over and that his dirty vodka martini was actually six dollars. He gasped and gave me a disgusted look.

“Well now I have to use my credit card.”

“That’s fine sir we have no minimum on credit cards,” I replied as I placed his money back on the bar in front of him.

He let his money sit on the bar without pulling out his wallet. I looked around the bar and saw at least three customers ready to order drinks who were waiting on me to finish with this fucktard.

“What time is Happy Hour over?” he asked still not pulling out his wallet.

“7 pm sir,” I replied.

He looked at his giant white watch that was bigger than my flat screen at home.

“That’s bullshit man. Its 7:02 and I ordered at 7.”

“Happy Hour is over at 7 pm sir.”

My douche bag threat level flared back up to a red.

“Really dude?” he said.

“Really what?”

“I ordered at 7 bro.”

“As I have stated before Happy Hour is over at 7 sir.”

“Really dude?”

I scanned the bar. There were now six people waiting to order as I interacted with this asshole.

“Really what sir?”

“You’re going to do this over a dollar dude?”

Astonished at the irony of that statement I could do nothing other than just stare at him. He got the point, eventually and in between a “whatever bro” and not leaving a tip he signed his tab and carried his dirty martini away.

This sort of interaction happens all the time. It’s as if because I serve alcohol which at times makes people do shady things people just naturally assume that my intentions are always shady. Like the girl who had just turned twenty-one a couple of days earlier who wanted to complain about her two dollar and fifty cent vodka cranberry not being strong enough.

She sent her boyfriend up first who sheepishly said that his girlfriend thought her drink was weak. He was quick to say that his whiskey coke was perfect. It was clear that all he wanted was to get laid which with a grumpy and sober girlfriend wasn’t going to happen. I offered to make him a double for five dollars. He quickly accepted.

Twenty minutes passed before he returned this time with his girl on his shoulder. I finished helping another customer before approaching them.

“What can I get for you folks?”

“Uh yeah, I would like a vodka cranberry except this time could you put some vodka in it,” she said.

I was shocked; she didn’t want more vodka she truly believed that I was pouring her straight cranberry juice.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Well my first couple of drinks didn’t have any vodka in them. Last time my boyfriend came up and someone else poured him a drink that was perfect.”

I looked around. I was the only bartender there.

“Actually that was me and it was a double,” I said

“Oh, then like that.”

“You want a double then?”

“No I want a single with vodka in it like the last one you poured.”

“So you want me to pour you a double but charge you for a single.”

The boyfriend leaned in at this point.

“If you hook us up we’ll hook you up bro (shady),” he said.

“A single it is,” I said.

I walked to my well. Normally I pour about a shot and a half per mixed drink but this girl had lost that privilege. I pulled out a shot glass measured the vodka to the line and filled the glass with cranberry. I slid it to her charged her two dollars and fifty cents and she walked away without leaving a tip all because she believed that I wasn’t just short pouring her but that I wasn’t pouring any vodka in her glass at all.

Believe me when I say I have not made a living off charging people for drinks that don’t have any alcohol in them. Not putting any liquor in your drink doesn’t benefit me. Doing so would be shady and would be the equivalent of being a thief.

A thief walks into a bar hovers amongst the crowd and then snatches someone else’s property right off the bar top. Then when said thief is caught red handed and confronted about the theft they look you dead in the eye and lie saying they have never stolen anything in their life. I am not a thief, I am a bartender and a guy who thinks I’m out to rip him off for a dollar or a girl who thinks I am shady enough not to pour a product I am charging for, well, they are just morons.

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

Advertisements

The Bad Bartender Chronicles

February 26, 2012

A lot of male bartenders think they are really cool because they work behind the bar. Let’s be honest bartender gigs are hard to come by, especially for men, so any person who has achieved that position should be proud. However, there is a line that is not to be crossed and unfortunately the prestige of pouring drinks gets the better of a lot of guys. These self-entitled fraudulent drink peddlers make the customer feel as if getting served by them should be viewed as an honor no matter how shitty or rude the service is.

I walk up to a bar and the bartender greets me with attitude and a sneer. While I order he looks past me to check out a waitress who is walking by. I order a vodka tonic but instead of hustling to mix my drink he casually walks over to the waitress he was just checking out. He says something that is in his mind witty and gets a courtesy laugh out of the girl who knows if she doesn’t play along her drink tickets will be ignored all night. He then walks over to the ice well and slowly pulls out a glass. A friend of his walks up to the bar and stands next to me. They slap each other five, bang knuckles and then act as if their hands have just exploded. There is an exchange of bros and then he goes and pours this person a beer.

As he hands the beer off they discuss whether or not the waitress is a slut. I can feel myself becoming dumber by listening to these two talk, as if stupidity were an air born disease. He scoops some ice out of the well and without taking his eyes off his buddy goes to put the ice in my drink. Half goes in the glass, the other half spills on the bar. He doesn’t seem to notice.

I hear the printer behind the bar print out a server ticket and watch as he tells his friend to hold on a minute. He then rushes to grab the ticket. Once he does he sets two glasses next to mine. He fills them carefully with ice and then proceeds to pour nice, stiff drinks. He rushes off to put them in the server window. When he returns he picks up his conversation with his buddy. He finally fixes my drink which consists of four ice cubes, half a shot of vodka and a whole lot of tonic. He slams it in front of me and says five dollars.

At first I’m not even sure if the drink is for me because he hasn’t looked at me or paused his conversation. I stare at him and wait for confirmation that we are actually involved in some sort of transaction. A minute passes before he finally looks down at me.

“What bro? I said five dollars.”

I slide him a twenty. He holds it in his hand as his buddy and him now discuss the latest UFC fight. Five minutes pass. Finally, I interrupt and ask for my change. Both of them stare at me with looks of disgust. The bartender scoffs and slowly walks over to the register. He hands me a ten and a five and resumes the conversation with his buddy. To me that means he is either expecting me to not tip or tip him five dollars. Neither of these is a realistic option. I know this arrogant schmuck deserves to be stiffed but not tipping isn’t in my physical makeup. I interrupt his buddy and his meeting of the minds again and ask for change for a five. I receive another scoff and after another minute of conversation he finally obliges. I leave a dollar and curse my tip karma obsession as I realize my tipping this waste of human flesh is simply reinforcing that bartenders can be as shitty or rude as they want and still receive a tip.

However, that dollar is the last one he will get from me as I would rather drink a warm forty of Olde English with a homeless toothless crack head on a street corner than ever stepping foot in that guy’s bar again. This self-entitled dickbag is one of many like him out there so beware. I urge you to be on the lookout for this sort of behavior and when you see it simply leave the establishment you are at and never go back.


%d bloggers like this: