Posts Tagged ‘vodka cranberry’

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.

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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!

Every Night Amateur

July 14, 2012

The term amateur night is usually used to describe New Year’s Eve. It is the one night a year where everybody who never goes to the bar decides that New Year’s is the night to do so. Any veteran drinker knows to stay away from even their most regular of establishments on such a night to avoid being surrounded by virginal bar goers spewing curdled car bombs all over the bar as they blow furiously on squeaky noise makers.

I’m here to say that it’s not just on New Year’s Eve that you, the general drunken public, should be wary of amateurs. On a nightly and on some nights an hourly basis I witness people doing some really stupid shit that makes you wonder whether or not they are mentally challenged in some way. Unfortunately they usually aren’t. It is much more likely that they are every night amateurs.

Every night amateurs behave in a manner that suggests that they have never been to a bar before in their entire life. This is not true. These people have been to bars before and some of them on a semi-regular basis. Despite this they still don’t realize that there is a certain way you are supposed to act in a public setting where alcohol is being served.

For example don’t bang on the bar, ever. Never reach into my fruit caddy or you will feel the wrath of my iron clad bottle opener, also known as Excalibur, which has bruised the shit out of many a fruit stealing fingers. When you approach a bar always have your id and money ready so that a transaction that should only take thirty seconds doesn’t turn into a five minute ordeal. If you don’t want to be labeled an every night amateur then use common sense and realize that if a bartender overhears you telling the total stranger sitting next you that he is over tipping, you most likely will never get served at that bar again.

The latest every night amateur trend seems to be ordering a drink and then walking away. That way when I return with their drink they are nowhere to be found. Nothing is more frustrating to a bartender who is busy then to have to seek a customer out to serve them. I’m not sure of the logic behind walking away after placing an order. It’s not like it’s going to take me fifteen minutes to fill a glass with some ice and some vodka cranberry. I didn’t give you a number and tell you we would call you over the loudspeaker when your order was up so why in the hell would you ever walk away right after asking me to make you something that takes fifteen seconds?

Every night amateurs come in couples some times. You can spot them because they will be the unattractive pair sloppily making out while sitting at the bar with no regard for anyone who happens to be around them. Drunken public displays of affection are the worst kind. Not only are they sloppy but they are noisy so that every smack of lips, lick of tongues or gnashing of teeth can be heard by anyone within five stools of the nasty couple. Visible tongue twisting and neck slurping can cause many a stomachs to turn. The worst is when this already disgusting display of every night amateur foreplay leads to an under the jacket hand job. When this occurs it must be stopped immediately or else spilled beer and melted water won’t be the only substances staining your bar.

The older an every night amateur is the more difficult they are to deal with. They have been acting like jackasses in public for so long that they actually believe that their behavior is acceptable. This makes every action of an older every night amateur much more extreme. What that means is they will be louder, dumber and more offensive than possibly any person you have ever come across. That also means that when they start making out with whatever other ancient fossil they come across who happens to be just as horny as them that their drunken public display of affection will always end with either an 86ing or a bar sprayed down with elderly semen.

We as bar employees deserve some blame for the high number of older every night amateurs that are out there. If they have been acting in such a moronic way for so long that means somebody somewhere should have said something like, “Hey asshole how about you stop whistling and calling me sweet cheeks or else I’m going to rip your tongue out of your mouth and smack the shit out of you with it.” Any bar owner who doesn’t allow his or her staff to properly police and educate the animal-like behavior that goes on at every bar in the world is doing you, the general drunken public, a disservice. If you don’t call an every night amateur out they will act like a dickbag for the rest of their lives and most likely raise a family of half-wit dickbags that will terrorize innocent bar employees and regulars until the end of time.

The worst offense an every night amateur can perform is the defamation of a check book or credit card receipt. If you don’t want to tip that’s fine, there is a special restaurant in hell you will be waiting tables at when you die, but being cheap is your right. However, vulgarities of any kind found on company property are unacceptable. That means that slipping a condom in a checkbook, drawing a penis or making obscene comments or simply writing fuck you on a credit card receipt will be met with swift action. Disrespectful behavior such as that is an abomination wrapped in an abomination marinated in hot sauce topped with melted Gouda served on a cheese cracker and should result in public humiliation, aggressive 86ing and, possibly, leg breaking.

P.S. BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING THE LOVE LIFE LINK TO THE RIGHT

I’m a Bartender

April 21, 2012

A guy approaches the bar. I finish helping my current customer and then move on to him.

“How are you doing? What can I get for you?” I ask.

“Yeah good. I just got off work. I’m a bartender down at …”

He continues to talk but as soon as I hear “I’m a bartender” not only do I stop listening but my internal douchebag alert sounds off at a frequency too loud to ignore. This may seem like an innocent statement to you but I know better. He didn’t name drop his occupation because he wanted to talk shop and discuss different ways to pour a vodka cranberry. This dick toast is trying to get the hook up, but I am not going to fall for it.

It is clear this guy is new to the business. Young bartenders always feel really cool when they first start out and for some reason assume that bartending is some secret order that allows them to drink for free wherever they go. Some of my best customers are bartenders who I hook up on occasion but this is due to them being cool or having proved over time to be a good tipper not because of what they do.

Then there is the guy who within five minutes of meeting you starts promising free shit at his bar.

“Hey bro, I bartend down at D Street. You should come check it out. If I’m working I’ll hook you up fat.”

Obviously this guy believes he will in turn get hooked up at my bar. This is not the case. Just the opposite because anyone willing to give away the bar to a complete stranger isn’t going to have a job for very long. I learned a long time ago that giving away free booze is a great way to get fired.

A lot of times people who have a complaint will claim to be a bartender. That is their attempt at establishing what they call in the crack business “street cred.” How could they be wrong if they do this for a living, allegedly, and why shouldn’t they be showered with free booze as a result?

Like the girl who slams her half drank glass on my bar interrupting my interaction with another customer. I ignore her and try to focus on the transaction at hand.

“Excuse me,” she says.

I ignore her.

“Excuse me,” she says, this time louder.

I finish helping my customer and upon seeing no one else at the bar I approach the girl with the half drank drink.

“What can I do for you?” I ask.

“Um, yeah, my margarita doesn’t have any orange juice in it.”

“I’m sorry I thought you wanted it plain.”

“I did that’s why I was expecting it to have orange juice.”

We stare at each and I quickly realize I am dealing with an inferior species of human.

“There’s no orange juice in a plain margarita but I can…”

“Uh actually I’m a bartender and I have never heard of a margarita that didn’t have orange juice in it,” she says.

I find myself at a crossroads. I can either enter into a debate with an idiot or I can just pour some orange juice in her glass and save my brain cells for more important purposes.

“How about I just pour some orange juice in that drink for you miss?”

“Well I was thinking for my inconvenience my girlfriends and I should get a round of shots on the house. It’s pretty standard to take care of your customers. Every bar I’ve ever worked at would do the same without being asked to.”

This girl is a fraud and so are people like her. Not only was she wrong about what went in her drink but since she is freshly twenty-one I doubt how extensive her experience in the bar business could be.

Former bartenders might be the worst. They can’t wait to tell you how to do your job which according to them they are qualified to do based on the fact that they bartended at the busiest bar in bumfuck Minnesota over a fifteen year span that covered the eighties and early nineties. Believe me that wealth of ancient experience is not going to make statements like, “Why did you do that?” or “I’ve never seen that before,” or  “You want to know how I used to do that?” are not going to get your drink filled faster.

Bartenders beware any person who claims to be in the business within the first five minutes of you talking to them should be double charged for everything they order. If you come across an issue with a so-called “bartender” making unintelligible complaints just pour orange juice in whatever glass they have in front of them. More importantly, if you come across a mouthy veteran of the bar game report them to the Home For Lost Barekeeps so that they may find someone who cares about what a mean mint julep they used to pour.


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