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.
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