El Vermino Boulevard

And So It Ends, As All Things Do

2008-08-21T21:18:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow marks the first week of my retirement from the bar. It's throwing my weekly rhythm off knowing that the bar won't mark my Fridays any more. I've got plans for tomorrow night, but then what? What am I supposed to do with my weekends?

A humorous question, sure, but asked with a touch of anxiety too. Per a recommendation from Dave, I just finished reading The Tender Bar, a booze-filled memoir which also points out the "safety in numbers" vibe in a bar, that feeling that we're all in this together. That's the bit I'm going to miss.

In any event, best wishes to all of you who've tracked this blog and to all of you who're still out in the field. May your customers be polite and your tips be generous.

If you still want to keep track of me, check out my other blogs:
My Writing Blog
My Talking With/About People Blog

Cheers.

One Last Last-Call

2008-08-16T02:34:00.005-06:00

Tonight was my last night at the bar. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have mixed emotions about that. After 3+ years of working there, it was strange to think of leaving. But, as far as last night's go, I couldn't hardly have asked for a better one.

Happy hour was busy enough for me to make some money, then things settled down enough for me to take it easy and goof off a bit. One of our regulars, who sometimes brings food back for the staff, promised me a hamburger if I was still there when he returned around midnight. So, instead of bailing early, I stuck around. After all, what did I care? It was my last night, so staying an extra hour or two didn't bother me.

Mostly average customers, along with a couple who were pests, but I mostly ignored them once they proved themselves to be so, because life is too short to deal with lousy tippers. Especially on one's last night. Around ten thirty I told Laura all the new tables were hers, and I'd just wait for what I already had to clear out. Then in walks a couple I know, and who I know tend to hang out with another couple I know even better, so I snag 'em. They end up being the last table to leave, so instead of cutting out early, I stay until after close (though only part of that is due to the table). I goof off, I chat, and...

I do a few shots. In honor of my last night, Julia and Laura want me to do shots. Since it's my last night, I'm down with that. A few shots, then a "martini" (i.e. a starry night shot doubled and poured into a martini glass), and I've had more alcohol in one night than I've had in the past two months put together (though, that mostly goes to illustrate how much of a non-drinker I am, rather than that I consumed particularly vast quantities). Now, not wanting to have to get a ride, or a cab, home, I cut off the booze early and start on the water. Around this time, the regular returns with food, so I add in a hamburger with fries to keep me from getting drunk, plus a couple pints of water. Still, Julia and Laura are much entertained at the amount of booze I drink.

Laura: For someone who never drinks, you do shots like a champ!

Then I tell her about my first-ever shot. My very first shot was an Andes Mint made by one of my all-time favorite, and since moved-on, bartenders, Paulie. He set it in front of me one night when I was done in the kitchen and listening to live music in the basement with a couple of friends from the university. I sipped that shot for a good ten minutes. Paulie and my friends thought it was hilarious. It's been a while since that first shot.

I do manage to commandeer the jukebox, but I'm not really in the mood for Elton John's Screw You, so I opt instead for softer fare like Billy Joel's It's All About Soul. Though, I do hold true on my goal of playing Telegraph Road. Since a number of other people are playing music as well, so it's not until about 1:45 a.m. that the jukebox actually starts in on my selection.

In the meantime, I've been scarfing down my hamburger and fries, doing a couple of shots, and chatting with my only table. The table congratulates me on my retirement, and then by the time my songs end, Laura and I have cleaned up and closed out and are ready to head for home. First though, I have to open an envelope that suddenly appeared at the server station with my name on it. Inside, a gift certificate to the bar from Julia, Laura, and Brandi, with the note "Come back and see us soon."

There are hugs and handshakes, and well-wishing, and it made me a little sad to think of leaving, even though I know I'll still stop in from time to time to say hello and have a drink or some fries. Still, it's strange to think that the next time I walk through the doors it will be as a civilian only.

It's time for last call, folks, can I get anybody anything else?

Two-fer

2008-08-13T20:42:00.002-06:00

I walked into the bar innocently enough, only to be immediately hollered at by Brandi.
Brandi: Hey, Ali. I gotta talk to you about the party last week.
Her tone of voice was one I recognized. This was her pissed-off voice. I braced myself for Brandi to be unhappy with me.
Brandi: I just want you to know I didn't rat you out.
A who-to-the-what now?
Brandi: Yeah, your mom wasn't very happy that you left early. I told her...
Then she launched into a tirade about the foolishness of the owners, who were unhappy that I went home instead of standing uselessly about, and who apparently gave Brandi an earful about it while Brandi told them to get over it. Well, that's the jist, anyhow.

A couple things impressed me:
1. Brandi's enthusiasm in defending me.
2. Her concern that I thought she might have tattled on me (which would never have crossed my mind, she's not that type)
3. The fact that the owners who were unhappy with me decided to discuss it with Brandi, not me.

Let's face it, I'm leaving. I think the owners realize what that means. Doesn't mean they like it, but, really, what'd be the point about talking to me about it?

Which brings me to the next coworker highlight. After a conference with Laura about why the hell was I working Wednesday? we changed the schedule so I wasn't. Thus, I'm home tonight instead of waiting on people. This is good.

This is very good. On Friday night I didn't like people. Unfortunately, I served a great many of them. Without going into details, we'll just say that I was not at the top of my game.

The highlight of the whole night? Knowing I'd only have one more shift to work, not two.

The Official Count Down

2008-08-07T14:11:00.002-06:00

The schedule's up for the next two weeks and I have my official number: 3. I'm at the bar tomorrow, for a party no less (bah), then next week I'm there on Wednesday (since when am I working weeknights again?), and one last Friday.

When Julia called me to tell me that I'd be doing the party - last minute booking - she also said that tomorrow Laura will be training my replacement. I'm glad, for my coworkers' sakes, that the owners got on the ball with replacing me. In the past it has often not been until one of the staff has been gone for a week or two that they get around to finding a replacement, which is just not good.

Three nights. Seems like such a small number.

Shortest Friday Ever

2008-08-01T22:33:00.002-06:00

A twenty year high school reunion happened tonight. Brandi and I were scheduled to do it and I showed up at 6:30, half an hour before the shindig was supposed to go down. A few people trickle in about 7:20, all of them go to the bar. Within fifteen minutes, the basement is pretty crowded and everybody's standing, which means everybody's in the way, thus it's pretty impossible for me to actually be useful.

I mostly end up bar-backing for Brandi, and by nine o'clock I'm out the door because there's no point at all in me sticking around. Granted, I made no moolah to speak of, but I was okay with that - after all, I did pick up an extra day this week anyhow.

One down, two (?) to go.

Everybody AND Their Dog

2008-07-30T22:33:00.004-06:00

You know mass hysteria, right? Everybody goes crazy at the same time. Tonight was like that, except instead of the "hysteria" part it was more like PMS. Dave's theory is that it's the heat combined with being so close to a new moon, but of course he shrugged when he offered the theory, too, 'cause no one really knows the why of nights like this.

A fairly quiet Wednesday night, which I worked only because it's Laura's birthday and she asked me nicely, so I had maybe a dozen tables all together. With one exception, every single table I had tipped poorly and/or complained about something. One exception.

There was the table where the matriarch had Dave break a $100 bill for her, then had me break a $50 (don't ask me why she didn't just get smaller bills from the bank when she cashed her pay check, because I have no logical answer.) Then, she paid for everyone and left me a 12% tip.

There was the couple where the guy told me that we make our Shepherd's Pie wrong.
Dude: I have some advice for your kitchen. See, this is how my Scottish grandmother makes it...
Seriously dude, then go have your grandma make your dinner. His girlfriend/wife ordered the smoked salmon, "oh, it's salty" - duh, it's smoked salmon. Mid-way through eating it, when I check on them, the dude says, "Do you usually serve the salmon with bread or something?"
Me: Uh huh. We serve it with crackers.
I move the crackers from where I set them on the table when I was prepping it to bring out their food and set them directly in front of the woman. Look! I'm magic!

Of course, there was the entitled trivia people, even though there was no trivia tonight.
Gal Annoying: I want the bread pudding, but only if it was made fresh today, 'cause the other day I had it and I had to send it back 'cause it wasn't fresh and it was stale so I couldn't eat it, so is it fresh today?
Me: Let me check.
(moments later)
Me: No, I'm afraid it wasn't made today.
GA: Oh, well, when was it made?
Me: Yesterday.
GA: Well, I really want the bread pudding, but I don't want to have to send it back again, do you think it's good?
Me: Your call.
GA: I guess I'll have it.

For the love of Joseph, I was *this* close to strangling her. Everything tonight seemed, like this, to involve entirely too much conversation. The way it should work is I say, "What can I get you?" and you say, "A vodka tonic." See? Easy. Instead, I kept getting as a response, "Well, golly, I just don't know what I'm in the mood for tonight... do you have any (random thing we don't have)? Or, how about..." for half an hour.

The best table (and I mean that non-sarcastically) was a foursome who came in, ordered their drinks, drank them, smiled, and even bought some official logoed bar shirts. They didn't complain about anything, and left a perfectly acceptable tip. Now, is that so hard?

At about the same time, I also had my two other favorites (and I mean that with much sarcasm).

There was "This is the worst fish and chips I've ever had even though I ate all the food, but that was only 'cause I was starving" guy. 10% there, even when I comped the food.
Me: I'll let the cook know.
Him: No, I'll let the owner know.
Dude, the owner put the fish and chips on the menu and the owner eats it all the time. Shut up.

And, the last table of the night ordered one round, drank one round, and when they were done and I checked on them, also offered some advice.
Margarita Woman: We have a suggestion for your bartender.
Me: Yes?
MW: Tell him to actually put alcohol in the drinks. My margarita just tasted like sweet and sour.
Gin and Tonic Woman: And my drink just tasted like tonic.
Me: If you'd like your drink stronger, you can ask for a double shot.
MW: Did he even put any alcohol in them at all?
Me: Yes.
GTW: Did you see him do it?
Me: Yes. He makes all the drinks the same and uses a jigger to measure the alcohol.
MW: Did you see him do it?
Me: Yes.

I pass this on to Dave who shakes his head.
Dave: It was those people? (points)
Me: Yup.
Dave: I even made those strong.

When I go back to the table to pick up empty glasses, they immediately ask if I gave the bartender their "advice."
Me: I told him. He said he actually made the drinks a little strong.
They don't believe me. I pick up all the empties, and the coasters as well as the couple dollars on the table, trying to drop a gentle "get the f* out" hint.
Dude: I guess it's not your fault, huh? You just work here.

Not much longer, though. Not much longer at all.

The Last Hurrah

2008-07-27T12:36:00.004-06:00

With my last day growing ever-closer, I find my mind turning time and again to what I'll do by way of a send off. While I'm going to skip any crass stuff, like bitching out a lame customer or bitch-slapping the next aggressively friendly forty-something guy trying to hit on me, I do feel the need to commemorate my last night somehow.

Primarily, my mind is turning to the jukebox. From time to time, there have been songs which I've wanted to play, but I've restrained myself, wanting to keep things appropriate, etc. But, once it's my last night, what've I got to lose? Thus, I'm planning to set aside $10 or so for late in my last shift to monopolize the jukebox. I'm still fleshing out what'll be on my playlist, but a few that I think I need to play are the following:
Telegraph Road by Dire Straits (a solid 14 min. long, which is awesome and obnoxiously epic)
Screw You by Elton John
Katmandu by Bob Seger
Something incredibly steel-guitar, hard core country sounding
That one song by the Pogues about the worms eating the decomposing body
Free and Easy by Dierks Bentley
A Lot of Leaving Left to Do by Dierks Bentley
One of the lyrically strange ones by The Church
Bubba Shot the Jukebox by Mark Chestnutt
(maybe) You're so Vain by Carly Simon

In general, an overall "adios" theme with overtones of "so long, suckers!" A silly gesture, perhaps, but I'll find satisfaction in it and I think it'll be worth a few bucks.

First Tables, Exact Change, and People Running With Knives

2008-07-27T11:20:00.004-06:00

This weekend was weird, especially Saturday (which I only worked 'cause Laura asked me to nicely). All the cheap, annoying idiots were out in force. Since a full accounting for the weekend would be a small novel in and of itself, I'm just going to give you highlights.

Friday was slow as soon as I got there, so I sat down at the bar and had an early dinner of fries. A middle aged blond woman walks in and tries to sit one stool over from me at the bar, has a great amount of difficulty with the close spacing of the stools, then picks one up and moves it right in front of the trash at the server station. I move it to the other side, which she sees me do.

She orders a beer from Brandi, looks around, fidgets, goes to a table before the beer's ready. Brandi puts the beer on the bar with a shrug, she's not going out there. Laura and I look at each other and shrug, neither are we. The woman continues to sit at the table, clearly expecting us to bring her beer to her.

After a good five minutes, she comes back to the bar. I continue to eat my fries. Blondie has a cell phone conversation with someone coming to meet her, "I might be eating," I hear. Huh? Oh, blind date. When she hangs up, she leans over to me.
Blondie: Hey.
I look up from my fries.
Blondie: There's a guy coming here to meet me. When he gets here, I want you to turn around and say, 'Hi Gary,' so he thinks you're me.
And I want to never have to deal with annoying girlies like you, but we can't all get what we want. Seriously, what is it with people who think I'm at the bar purely for their entertainment?
Me: Don't think it'd work, since I clearly work here.
Blondie: No, it will. Do it.
*Sigh* I move my fries to the other side of the server station and find an excuse to be in the kitchen for the next ten minutes. When I come back, Gary has found her. Gary has also had a problem with the stools and moved another one to right in front of the trash. Gary and Blondie are now on my black list.

For the rest of the time the love birds remain at the bar, I spy on them. I'm bored, they've attracted my attention, and it gives me a way to make fun of 'em. I gotta take what I can get. Over the course of the date, I get everyone in on it. When they go out to the patio for a smoke, Debbie watches 'em through the kitchen window. Unbeknownst to the daters, they have become the center of attention.

Me: I wish they'd just hurry up and leave. Then they'd stop annoying me and they could go do the nasty. Everybody wins.
Laura: That's what I like about you, always thinking of other people.

Dave: I think it's going very well, they seem comfortable with each other. She's more eager than he is. (pause) A lot more.
Me: Bodes well for him, then.

Debbie: He's got his arm around her.

Brandi: She's gonna get laid.

They eventually leave (but not before Blondie spends half an hour in the bathroom - I don't even want to know what she was freshening up). As they walk out the door, maybe an hour after first arriving, I turn to Laura.
Me: You know, sometimes after we have conversations like this, I get paranoid about ever going out someplace myself, for fear of the conversations being had about me.

Then I finally got my first table, a trio. I walk up, plop down the coasters, give the usual "hi, how're ya doin?"
Guy: What's cheap here?
He then proceeds to quiz me on what's the "most economical" pitcher of beer, appetizer, and what we'll give him for free. He gives me a dollar tip for the pitcher, and I do my best to ignore him thereafter. Life's too short for that nonsense.

Skip to Saturday.
My first table is the two ladies who dropped in and gave me 10% on my last weekend where I hated everybody. I do the bare minimum service-wise, 'cause I'm already not in the best of moods and I'm holding a grudge. Then their friend, gal indecisive, joins them. Shoot me now. I go over. Does she know what she wants? No, of course she doesn't. I hand her the drink menu and give her a few minutes.
Me: Have you decided?
She points to the peach fizz on the menu: How is the sparkling wine you use in that?
Me: It's fine. (Who cares? It's mixed with orange juice and peach schnapps, it's not like you're even tasting the sparkling wine at that point, dumbass)
GI: Um... Well, maybe I'll have some wine instead...
I was expecting this. She never orders the first thing she's thinking about ordering. Never. She goes for the Riesling, like she usually does. Why, when she usually orders the same thing, does it remain so difficult? Then she asks for a food menu, and I run crying to Julia.

Julia: Yeah, well, did you see that couple that just left? (she holds up a five dollar bill) This is a terrible tip. They had dinner and everything. The best part, the woman kept telling me how the Dalai Lama sent her. That's a first for me.

Then, at about eight thirty, I go from having two tables to twelve in the space of about ten minutes. I shift into efficiency mode. I'm in a rush for the next hour straight as I try to catch up and keep up with so many people all at once. In this rush, my two least-favorite tables of the entire night arrive, for this is when I get the exact-change bastards. One table starts out on my bad side as the dude pulls out his wad of cash and counts out six dollars exactly, hands it to me, and puts the wad of cash back in his pocket. The other table doesn't seem so bad right off. On their first round, I get a couple dollars. This was the best tip from them for the next four hours.

As it begins to slow down a bit, the "good" table's ready for another round. When I bring it, everybody except one chick is out for a smoke. I set down the drinks, and then am forced to stand there while she digs through her purse for an eternity.
Her: I'm sure I have fifty cents in here somewhere.
That's right, more exact change.
Next round, different person pays, I get stiffed again. Fifty-cents girl asks me for water, which I somehow forget to bring for her. Next round, different person pays, gives me 10%. I say, screw that, and do my best to ignore them and the other table (a couple more exact change rounds there, as well as a couple "and a dollar for you!" from the other dude).

I decide now's a good time to take out the trash because a little distance between me and the cheap bastards can only make me less likely to kill them. As I'm grabbing a fresh trash bag from behind the bar, one of the regulars is sitting there having a beer.
Him: I hear you're leaving.
Me: Yup. Just a couple more weeks.
Him: Why?
Me: I'm just going to be too busy once the new semester starts.
He nods.
Me: Seems the right time anyhow. People are getting on my nerves.

And then, to finish off an altogether classy weekend, near closing time as I'm taking drinks away from the lingerers, who though different from my two "favorite" tables, also liked to stiff me. They give me sad looks, and I say, "Sorry, gotta pick 'em up," without being sorry at all. So, as I'm starting this, Brandi and K.C. have to step outside to have a conversation with some police officers.

Why? You ask. Because, during a smoke break a short time earlier, they got to see some inebriated dude chasing another drunk down the street brandishing a knife. Ah, good times. So, the police borrowed Brandi and K.C. to try and identify the knife-wielding-psycho. "Was it him?" I ask, when Brandi returns.
Brandi: Nah, it was some other fool.
Which means, the crazy man with sharp implements is still on the loose. Aint that awesome?

By the end of the night, thanks to one surprisingly generous table, my take-home doesn't suck as much as I feared it might, but my overall percentage is still disappointing. Usually, with that much in sales I would have taken home a solid $20 more, if not $30. Cheap bastards. A pox on them. I wish nothing pleasant for their futures, nothing pleasant at all.

Yes indeed, people are getting on my nerves.

Senioritis

2008-07-18T23:37:00.002-06:00

I'm very much in that place where I'm just coasting through my shifts at the bar. I'm not especially motivated. Not especially invested, and big on getting out ASAP. Tonight, for instance, I was the first one in, thus the first one out. By ten thirty I was gone. It was awesome.

Slow night. Nothing too much that was interesting. I did have one funny exchange.

Two guys walk in and find a table.
Me: Hi how're you doing?
Guy: Terrible, and you?
He said it totally deadpan and without any kind of emphasis. I was entertained.
Me: Alright, what'll you have?
Guy: A Smithwicks.
Me: Will that get you in better shape?
Guy: That'll fix me right up.

On the broader scope - got news today that the deal to sell the bar fell through. Apparently the dude who wanted to buy it forgot to get his wife in on the scheme and she put the kibosh on it. As Dave put it, "He forgot to clear it with the boss."

And thus, life at the bar continues.

Misanthrope Weekend

2008-07-13T20:18:00.004-06:00

Dunno what it was, 'cause there was no full moon, but there was a disproportionately high number of obnoxious bastards this weekend.

Early-ish in the evening on Friday, a couple random guys plop down at the bar right by the waitress station. The dude nearest, and thus most in the way, turns around in his stool to peruse the place. I walk over to the computer to put in an order.
Guy: Hey!
I look at him for a moment. He says nothing, expecting me to be friendly and respond to the greeting/command for attention. I turn away.
Guy: You don't talk much, do you?
Me: Nope.
I finish putting in the order and make my exit. I walk away, and Laura catches my eye. She's trying not to laugh.
Laura: I love the expression on your face when that happens.

Then I got the annoying table. We start out kinda normal. Half a dozen people, though the number fluctuates constantly during the night as people wander around, which also makes it near impossible for me to actually check on them because at most I can only ever check on three or so people at a time. Of course, none of them thinks of this, instead assuming I can't do my job because when they eventually return to the table and want a drink, I'm somewhere else because I just checked on everybody two minutes ago when said person was hanging out downstairs/on the patio/on Mars.
First round, public enemy number one pulls out her credit card and hands it to me.
Me: Would you like me to run it, or should I keep it open?
Mojito Girl: Well, if you're going to keep it, I'd rather give you my drivers license.
Me: Well, I need an actual card in order to keep a tab open.
Mojito Girl: You're not gonna lose it are you? ('cause I always lose credit cards)
Me: Why don't I just run it and bring it right back to you?
Mojito Girl: Okay.

Second round.
Mojito Girl: I want another mojito, but not like the first one. The first one was sweet, make it without sugar this time.
Oh, so sorry. Just because mojitos are made with simple syrup, I should have known you don't like them the way they're made. Gosh, I'm an idiot.
Me: (to blue-shirt-wearing guy who just joined) And can I get something for you?
Blue shirt: Oh, I think I'm gonna go up to the bar to get something.
Riiiiight.
Second round, ball cap guy gives me his card. He has me run a tab.

At about nine thirty, the single-most loathsome regular we have comes in with a friend and the friend's ten year old son. Awesome. He sits at a table. Technically, it's Laura's turn, but she's swamped closing out a million separate tabs for the table of lawyers. C. and his pals are all mine. Super awesome. I get their drink order without drama. While I'm waiting on the drinks, Laura tells me that C. asked her about food and she reminded him the kitchen closes at nine. Now, the truth is, Debbie made a few extra sandwiches for after-hours. When Laura says this to me, I think of the sandwiches. I bring the drinks over. C. asks me about food (because he thinks I like him more than Laura does and am more willing to "help him out," maybe)
C.: Hey, is there anything to eat around here?
Me: No. The kitchen closes at nine. Also, I gotta let you know that we can't have any minors in the bar after ten o'clock.
C.: What about downstairs? (Which is not part of the bar?)
Me: Uh, no.
C.: On the patio?
Me: Not the patio either.
And thank goodness for small graces, they were done and out within half an hour because they had to be.

Last call. Mojito girl is on the patio. She wants a rum and coke. I pick up glasses and am forced to walk very slowly behind her as she saunters inside, blocking the back hall so I can't get past. I bring the last drinks the rest of the table ordered over. On my way back to the bar she hollers out, "I'm over here now!" assuming that I failed to notice.

I run ball cap guy's card 'cause he said he was ready for me to do so.

I also run mojito girl's card for that last drink, and when I bring the slip and the drink over, ball cap guy gets my attention.
Ball cap: Uh, can I get a print out of everything that was on my tab?
Me: Sure.

A short time later, ball cap guy comes over to the bar.
Him: Uh, can you tell me what this is? I was talking to everybody about what they had, and nobody had this.
He points to the tab. He and his friends have been here for a few hours. They've been drinking alcohol. I have not. Yet, he expects his friends' memory to be better than mine.
Me: Yeah, that was a rum and coke.
Him: But I ordered a Malibu and coke.
Me: Your second was a Malibu and coke, the first one you just said rum and coke and so I did the house rum.
Him: But how is it $9.00?
Me: It's not, the $9.00 is the two drinks on the next line.
Him: And there's one too many mojitos.
Me: Let's see, that's two for the gal (mojito girl) and two for your other friend.
Him: But, the gal only had two mojitos.
Me: Right, and your friend wearing the blue shirt had two as well.
Him: Oh.
For the love of Nicholas! Why, after trusting your friends alcohol lubricated memories over mind, are you now expecting me to remember exactly who had every single drink and when?

Okay, so I could, but that's not the point. $66 tab. $6 tip. Thanks buddy. Thanks a lot. Look, if you don't trust the server to run a tab, fine. Then don't run a tab. Rocket science it is not.

Mojito Girl kindly filled in a zero on her slip.

Saturday, I thought, had to be better. Right?

Saturday is dead. I have seven whole tables over the course of the night.
The ladies on the patio are regulars and I think we have a pretty good rapport. They usually have two beers each and tip two dollars each. Tonight they have dinner as well, and an appetizer. They still tip two dollars each. Thanks for the 10%, why do you suddenly hate me?

The seemingly out-of-towner foursome has two ego-trip guys who fight over who's gonna pay me. They can't figure it out for themselves, and force me to choose. I grab the card from the guy on the left. It's a room key. He thinks he's hilarious. I go to take the card from the other guy, but the first guy shoves it away and then (no joke) throws his own card at me.

Two likeable regulars come in with a friend. I think to myself, "Hallelujah, somebody I can stand!"
Me: Hi there, guys, how's it going tonight?
Regular 1: It's going good. Do you know our friend?
Me: A little. (I recognize him, but we've never "met")
Their friend orders himself a girly martini. He finishes it quickly.
Me: Would you like another?
Him: No, I'll do a beer. There's not hardly anything in the martini.
That's 'cause it's a martini.

He starts throwing popcorn at the good regulars (who later apologize for the mess).

While the dude is in the bathroom, the other regular leans over to me.
Regular 2: We're taking our friend out tonight, 'cause he wants to meet girls. Do you know where we can find girls?
Me: Not so much.
Regular 2: (shakes her head) He's our age (early forties) but he only wants to meet girls who're 22.
Aw dang, I'm too old for him then. Shucks, I'm so disappointed.

And then there's the other group who does the musical tables thing that's so annoying. They also do the fighting over who's gonna pay thing, compromising with taking turns on the rounds. At one point, most of the group is off to the bathrooms or the patio, and guy who was arguing about who was gonna pay catches my eye.
Guy: I'd like another round for everybody.
Me: Sure thing.
I pick up a bottle and look at the label (they got round 1 at the bar) so I know what to bring one of the gals.
Guy: Don't bring 'em all yet, wait until they're ready.
Me: Alright.
I bring the guy his drink.
Guy: Hey, where are the rest of 'em?

I think ever-so-fondly of Manuel's stabbing fork, and feel the little vein in my forehead go a-twitching.

At least it was a slow enough night that I got to sit at the bar a lot and talk to Alex and K.C. and a couple others who I didn't want to murder. At least it was slow a slow enough night that we actually close early for the first time ever on a weekend I've been working. Granted, the money was pitiful, but at least there was no homicide. Barely.

Highs and Lows

2008-07-13T01:22:00.004-06:00

This weekend was a strange mix of good and bad. On one hand, it made me infinitely glad that I'm nearing the end of my beer wenching career, and on the other, it had some good points. I think this weekend was emphasized a bit, too, because when Marianne did the schedule she somehow managed to confuse July with August and made the schedule as if Friday were my last night. (I quickly remedied said confusion as soon as I arrived Friday.)

Bad: Lots of egomanical/jerk/stupid customers.

Good: Saw one of our semi-regulars who I wanted the chance to see at least once more before I'm gone.

Bad: Lots of lousy tips.

Good: I still somehow managed to make slightly above my average tip percentage Friday night.

Bad: Since Laura asked nice, I worked Saturday night for her instead of having it off.

Good: Julia let me come in late tonight.

Absolute best: I finally got to work a weekend night where we actually closed early! So. Freakin'. Awesome.

So, now I feel like I've gotten all the key cocktailing milestones under my belt. Any loose ends I felt like I had have been tied up, and now I just have to work one more month before I'm done. Though, I gotta say, the thought did cross my mind to just embrace Marianne's mistake and go for the early retirement.

On a much more disturbing note: I wasn't the only one who had a rough Friday night. One of our young regulars got jumped last night (as best we can figure, it was about one block over as he was leaving a nearby bar after closing). They beat him a bit, stole everything, stripped him, and went for a joyride in his car (though they brought it back, strangely enough). Fortunately, the injuries are relatively minor. Some stitches for a gash above his eye and some rest should be all he needs. The part that I find scary, aside from the nearness of the attack, is the fact that it would seem he got a good crack on the head because he doesn't remember what happened.

Any good thoughts you could spare on his behalf would be much appreciated.

iGlee

2008-07-03T15:30:00.002-06:00

Today I got an iPod. I am filled with much happiness. Technology is cool.

Even cooler - the free iTunes that came with it. This meant that today I got the Big Kenny album I've been trying so hard to find anywhere in town. It's wonderful and so I'm going to plug it. Check out Live a Little, go on, just try it.

Flying Rocks My Socks

2008-07-02T11:00:00.002-06:00

Right now the Air Force is paying me to learn to fly Cessna 172's. I've been having a blast and just found out that I'm scheduled to solo tomorrow. I'm uber-cheesed because the more I fly, the more I enjoy it. I've always enjoyed the freedom of driving, so I guess it's not much of a surprise that I enjoy the additional axes of freedom that come in an airplane.

Self-Medicating

2008-06-30T12:09:00.001-06:00

Because today is one of those days where I really need a giggle. I thought maybe you could use one too.

And Now I Know

2008-06-24T12:57:00.003-06:00

For a while now, I've been trying to think of what I'll do after the bar, at least in terms of this blog. I've reached the decision that this blog has become so bar-oriented that to try and shift its focus after my "retirement" would be difficult and/or just not work.

So, to make a long story short, once I've retired from the bar, I'm going to retire this blog as well. I'll keep it around as an archive of the whole bar experience, but I don't expect I'll update it much, or at all. Instead, my efforts are going to shift to a new blog, Memorable Speech.

Mostly, it'll be very much like what's going on with this blog now. However, instead of having a limited scope (conversations at the bar), I'm expanding my focus to include other places and people who aren't drinking alcohol.

While I still have at least a few more bar posts to put up here, in the future, my adventures will be recounted elsewhere. I want to thank everyone who's been reading this one, and a special shout-out to all my waitstaff bretheren. I wish everyone the best and hope that you'll come with me to the new blog.

The Night Everything Broke, and I Have Perfect Timing

2008-06-21T10:31:00.005-06:00

First thing when I walk in the door, Debbie pulls me aside.
Debbie: The fridge is on the fritz and I had to throw out a lot of food, so we have a limited menu.
She pulls out a copy of the menu and starts pointing.
Debbie: We have this, this, and this, but not that, and that, or that other thing.
Ah, gotta love complications.

One of my first tables is a middle aged woman with two girls who look about sixteen. They sit in one of the soft sections which seats exactly three people.
Me: Hi ladies, what can I get you?
Matriarch: We're expecting three more, so we're going to wait to order.
Obviously, they're in a cuddly mood because the only way to fit three more people there is for the newcomers to sit on the others' laps.

When the three newcomers arrive, the group moves to a table. Now, I know that in the grand scheme of things, this isn't really anything. But, it is one of my pet peeves when people can't do math of the "Let's see, there should be ten of us, and there's enough room for four people here, so..." variety. The newcomers are another middle aged woman and two more teen girls, though these look to be only fourteen-ish. The adults have chardonnay, the teens have virgin margaritas.
Me: Make sure you make those blended.
Dave: Oh, you should never blend virgins. Very messy.

Then, the flyboys invade. New group this time, but again with thirty at once. Their enthusiasm and volume are impressive.

A middle aged blonde woman joins an annoying couple at my table (high maintenance while also being lousy tippers).
Me: What can I get you?
Blonde: Him (points at one of the flyboys)
Me: ...
I stare at her more or less blankly because I've already lost the willpower to pretend I'm at all amused. The best I can manage is a slight upturn of my mouth that's not really a smile.
Her: Ha ha. It was a joke. I was kidding.
Me: ...
Her: (pout) Uh, a Bud Light.

Thanks to the invasion of many, many flyboys, none of whom carry cash, the ATM quickly runs out of moolah. Meanwhile, the jukebox is out of commission as well, which means we have to rely on the radio for background noise the whole night, which means I don't get to play any songs by the new bands I'm listening to these days.

The flyboys scare off the annoying table, which leaves me less than 10% overall, and I almost thank the flyboys for this, except I would have to yell over them to do so and I'm already starting to get a headache. I sigh and tell Laura that it's going to be a long night.

When the flyboys clear out we get a bit of a lull, which most of us use to eat something before the B Street mob hits.
Me: So, I counted. On the calendar. I have a maximum of sixteen more nights working here before I'm done.
Laura: No, not that many.
Me: Well, I mean, that's the most. I'm surely not going to be here all of them.
Laura: Really you've got half that. Mid-July.
Me: No, Mid-August, that's my quit date.
Laura: No, Mid-July. The owners are selling the bar.
Me: What? No way.
Laura: Yup.
Me: Wow.

Here's the rundown - the owners are in negotiations with the new owners, and while the paperwork is not yet signed, it seems like a definite thing. The new owners have their own ideas, which have been hinted at, but not fully detailed, about what the bar should be like. Their ideas are different from what it's currently like, so needless to say, the staff are anxious and a few have already mentioned leaving. A big part of why we work at the bar is because of its somewhat sophisticated atmosphere, and if the new owners change that we're all just left with dealing with drunks. Yeah, I'll pass. Then again, it's a moot point for me in some ways, because I'm leaving anyway. Yet, it's still sad to think of because I had plans for stopping in from time to time to say hi to everybody, but if everybody's abandoned ship, that's not going to work.

In summation, it seems my last day has moved up by a month. Regardless of what we think of the changes the new owners make, there will certainly be changes, and I fail to see the purpose of figuring out the new system just in time to quit, so that brings me down to a max. of eight nights. Unless the deal falls through, or the new owners change things slowly, that is. Dunno how it's going to play out, and it's hard not to be disappointed. All bitchery aside, I like the bar and I like the staff. I'm sad to think of it disappearing.

Alright, so back to the night itself:
B Street ends. We get flooded with the mob. I start going hoarse from all the times I have to yell "excuse me" at people who either ignore me, give me dirty looks ('cause my doing my job is interrupting their standing in the way, how rude!), or move half an inch to the side because they think I can fit through that much space. I get handsy and get in nudging/lightly shoving people out of the way mode.

During one of my passes, a random drunk dude yells out to me: Little smile? Little smile?
Me: No.
Which surprises the hell out of him.
Dude: No?! No?!
That's right moron. I refused your demand that I pretend to be happy while dealing with you and your mob of obnoxious friends. The purpose of my life is not to pretend I like you.

As an hour or two passes and the crowd trickles (or stumbles) out, I spot J. who walks over to me to fill me in on the fruits of my matchmaking the other night. Said fruits: coffee date. He's not quite sure if she's the girl for him, but he likes her as a friend at least and then he grilled me again about what she said about him. It was cute. Now I've gotta remember to call Jamie and get her side of the story.

My last table of the night consisted of two morons who were both annoying and bad tippers. Dude one says to Laura: Yo, yo, yo!
Laura: (forced civility) Can I help you?
Dude one: Am I bothering you? Do you not work here?

Dude two says to me: Hey, I've seen you on campus. You're a psych major, right?
Me: Nope, English major.
Dude two: blah, blah, school, blah, blah.
Me: That's amazing! We both go college. We should totally be best friends now!

Okay, so I didn't actually say that last bit. But, here we have another law of what I'll call bar physics: The more obnoxious the guy, the more convinced he is that hitting on the waitress is a good idea.

And tonight. Tonight, my friends, I have off. Words cannot fully express how overwhelmed by joy I am at this fact. I'm practically radiating rainbows right now. I kid you not.

Meanwhile, the mantra that keeps running through my head is, "Only one more B Street. Only. One. More."

Dog (Owner) Watching

2008-06-19T18:35:00.004-06:00

The city has recently opened a dog park, so a few days ago the beast and I went to check it out. I am officially a fan. It's a beautiful thing, I go, I take Sherman, she plays with the other dogs for an hour or more, depending on the day, and then when I bring her home she's worn out and pleasantly too tired to be a pest.

It's funny how similar dog park dynamics are to the bar. You have your handful of regulars as well as plenty of complete strangers, and an environment based in being social. So, it results in the same kind of people watching.

Just like at the bar, there are a fair share of people who just don't understand the basic concept. They are the people who bring their pet and keep him/her on a leash the entire time or otherwise do all they can to prevent their animal from actually interacting with any of the other animals. It's bizarre. And then, there are plenty of other assorted neurotics.

A woman enters with her husky, who's wearing a muzzle. The woman then proceeds to tell the other humans all about how she's training the husky to be a service dog - i.e. one who does pet therapy at nursing homes and the like - which is kinda cool. The husky is wearing a muzzle because she likes to nip at other dogs and this is what the trainer told the woman to do. Okay, I'm with you there. The husky rolls its face in the ground, doing its best to get the damn thing off. Now, we're doing alright up to this point. But then it all goes horribly wrong when the woman seems physically incapable of stopping her speech. She not only babbles away at the humans, she also maintains a near constant stream of near baby talk at the dog. After hearing this woman say, in a high pitched voice, "Go play with the puppy" (which seems to be a catch-all for any and all dogs, regardless of age) for the tenth time, I make my way to the other side of the dog park because my ears are about to start bleeding.

During another visit, I meet three people who're neighbors - a young woman, a middle-aged woman and her son. Between them they have four dogs. Three of them are the young woman's - two tiny dogs and a german sheperd who was picked up from the pound just the day before.
Gal: My husband was not happy when I brought this one home. I went to the pound to find a gerbil, and I just had to take her instead. (She laughs) My dogs are my babies. My husband teases me about it, he says 'you'd nurse 'em if you could,' but I wouldn't go that far.
She leans down and hold out a water bottle which is specifically designed for dogs and has a built-in dish at the top. It's not quite a baby bottle, but it's not that big of a leap, either.

This afternoon when we pull up there are already half a dozen dogs and as many people. One of the pairs is high-pitched woman with husky, no muzzle today though. A short time after we arrive, a woman and her two sons (one about seven, the other fourteen-ish) walk in with a border collie. Their dog likes fetching tennis balls. My dog couldn't care less about tennis balls, but loves to chase dogs that are chasing tennis balls, so I end up hanging around this trio for a while.

A guy and his good looking girlfriend/wife come in with a german shepherd who's still young enough to have a puppy's bratiness. He is named Klaus, which is a great name for him, and he also likes to chase dogs who are playing fetch. He also likes to wrestle/play-fight. He starts picking on the border collie, which freaks the woman out. She keeps trying to separate the two, plainly worried that the shepherd is trying to murder her dog when he clearly isn't. I try to reassure her that they're just rough housing, but she stays in over-protective mode.

My dog, meanwhile, is becoming best friends with the seven year-old who keeps giving her treats and has become her biggest fan. Once Klaus looses interest, the woman relaxes just a bit.
Woman: I'm actually afraid of dogs.
Which is the perfect reason to come to a dog park.
Woman: I was bitten by a german shepherd when I was a kid. It scares me to see him running at me like that.
Ah, so that explains it.

Klaus, resigned to the fact that the collie isn't going to play, turns his attention to my dog. They wrestle, and since he's at least half again as big as my dog, he's got the advantage. He keeps putting his mouth around her neck and pushing down, pinning her. Now, maybe I'd be a little worried about this, except that it's easy to see he's not actually biting her, and then there's the fact that when he lets go and turns away from her, she runs in front of him and instigates another match. Yes, that's right, my dog is the bratty little sibling in this equation.

The woman walks a little ways away to play fetch with the collie while the two trouble-makers are preoccupied and Klaus's people make their way over.
Guy: Is my dog bothering you?
Me: Nah, he's alright.
Guy: Okay, I just wanna make sure. I don't want to harsh anyone's dog mellow.
Me: He's just playing. Still a young one, huh?
Guy: Yeah.
Me: He's still learning his manners then.
Guy: (Smiles) He's so good at home. He sits, fetches my slippers and drives the car.

When we call it quits, my dog is well-coated in saliva, panting, and ready to crash. On the way home I decide that by tomorrow she definitely needs a bath. But, not until after we go to the dog park again.

Okay, So I'm a Meddler. But, It Was That Kind of Night.

2008-06-15T08:25:00.004-06:00

Last night was one of those nice nights to be at the bar. Not too quiet for a Saturday, but not especially busy. Add a handful of pleasant regulars and a general laid back vibe, and it was a good night for me because I got to sit down and chat with people, but wasn't bored out of my mind. Good combo.

Last night was also a little bit odd because it was definitely couples night.

Tall, gawky, middle-aged guy walks in, has a seat at the bar around six thirty. Nothing interesting. Then, a while later, a woman walks in and joins him. I'm nearby at this point, and catch the "nice to meet you." My ears perk up, it seems we've got something blind-date shaped on our hands. She orders a margarita. He pays for it. They move to a table, and now are mine. She orders some food. He doesn't, but I have a strong suspicion that he's paying for it. Eventually, they go out to smoke. So does Brandi. The couple's out there for quite a while.
Me: So, they making out on the patio?
Brandi: No. I don't know that it's going that well.

The couple comes back, guy pays for the food, and they leave.
Me: Well, they're leaving together, that's a good sign.
Brandi: Are they holding hands?
Me: I don't think so.
Brandi: Go out front and look. No, I'll do it.
She dashes to the front door, and pokes her head out. No hand-holding.

Guy walks in, sits at a soft section, and says he's waiting for someone and is going to wait to order. He's wearing cologne. A woman walks in, a woman who I know from elsewhere, and who I know is single. They order their drinks and sit and talk together for a long time. No hand-holding there, either, but they had a date vibe.

Big group walks in. Among them a nice guy I know from the university and his wife. While the group is there, this guy can't stop touching his wife. Nothing obscene, mind you, it's strictly G-rated and when I walk over to check on them, he's absentmindedly watching her, and running his fingers through her hair. Very sweet.

Another group walks in, three gals and one guy. Two gals are a couple, as are the guy and the other girl. The guy and girl are getting married the next day. They're out to celebrate before the nuptials. They need shots. One of the lesbian gals comes up to the bar, because she's forgotten that I work there and am the one running a tab for them, and once the shots are ready, I remind her.
Me: Here, I'll take these over for you.
Gal: Oh, thanks. Can I carry anything?
Me: No, I got it. I've had practice.
Gal: Alright, I was just trying to be a nice guy.
Me: Thanks. I'm alright though. The tray helps.
Three tabs in the group. Lousy tippers, all. Funny. Lately, that seems to be a trend. I understand that weddings are expensive, but come on, folks, really. It was hard to be annoyed, though, I was just not in that kind of mood. Besides, the "nice guy" comment was pretty funny.

Rob and Melissa also make their appearance. Their first year wedding anniversary is coming up on Monday and they're as cute with each other as ever. They always sit right next to each other, plenty of hand-holding, and they lean in and talk and talk like everything the other person is saying is fascinating. Seeing them is one way to keep from getting cynical.

During a lull, I pulled up a chair and chatted with them for a while.
Melissa: So, what's new?
Me: Well, I'm trying the online dating thing. Started seeing a guy.
Melissa: Really? Rob and I met online.
Then they start grilling me for details. At one point, Melissa gives Rob a hard time because he's the one doing most of the grilling.
Rob: It's just 'cause I'm jealous. Ali's my secret girlfriend.

Around ten, K.C. comes in to watch the door. While I'm up front saying "hi," who should walk by the front windows but the blind-date couple.
Me: Hey Brandi, guess who I just saw.
Brandi: Are they holding hands?
Me: No. But, they're still together, so...
Brandi: Maybe there'll be a romp in the hay after all.

Okay, so now the stage is set. You can see what kind of mindset I was in, right? You can see what kind of vibe is in the air.

Enter J. and his buddy. J's an off-and-on regular, he's a nice guy, my age, who's the perfect kind of regular - friendly, but not pushy about it, and easy going. The two just came from a religious-themed event.
Me: Hey there, stranger. What're you guys up to, tonight?
J: Well, we got some God, and now we need some beer. All I need is to meet a pretty girl, and my night's complete.
He looks around, notes how slow it is.
J: Why don't you have a seat, keep us company for a while?
Me: Sure, just let me check on my other tables first.
I hang out for a while, and am sitting at the table when the door opens again and Jamie walks in.

Me: Hey there. Looking for people? (She hangs out with some other folks I know)
Jamie: Yeah.
Me: They're downstairs.

Then, the idea strikes me. When Jamie comes back upstairs a short time later for popcorn, I pull her aside.
Me: So, maybe I shouldn't say this, but I'm in that kind of mood tonight.
Jamie gives me a suspicious look.
Me: See the guy over there with the glasses?
Jamie: Yeah.
Me: Well, he's looking to meet a girl tonight. Whaddya say?
I talk her into it.
Me: Great. I'm taking some beers over, come with me and I'll introduce you.
I grab the beers and we walk over.
Me: Alright, you said you wanted to meet a pretty girl tonight. This is Jamie.

They say hello, J pulls out a chair for her, but Jamie goes back downstairs where the rest of her friends are waiting for their popcorn. When she doesn't come back after a few minutes, I go after her. She's hiding, but my scheming doesn't work if she's hiding, so I tell her to get back upstairs. Then I turn to Skunk.
Me: See this gal right here?
Skunk: Yup.
Me: Don't let her stay down here too long, she's gotta go back upstairs.
Skunk: Got it.
Jamie gives me a look that's none-too-nice. Then, I head over to her group of friends, which includes my friend Dorothy, and Dorothy and I make a plan. They group is a bit hungry so I say I'll put together some chips and salsa for them, on the condition that Jamie comes up to get it.

Brandi: Hey, you were supposed to unplug the jukebox. (it was on the fritz and this was our next attempt at fixing it)
Me: I can't waste my time on that right now. I'm busy.
When I tell her what I'm up to, she gives me her patented look of disgust. JP has me point out J and fill him in, so now there are a number of people following along.

Of course, when Jamie comes up for the food, I take my sweet time getting it while she sits at J's table. By the time I cough up the chips and salsa, she's given him her number. When she goes back down, I follow soon after, and when I return J grills me.
J: Did she say anything about me? Does she think I'm cute?
Me: She said you should call her.
J: Anything else?
Me: She said she gave you her real phone number.
J: And?
Me: She didn't give me any more than that. It's out of my hands now, but I wish you the best of luck.

Brandi: Well?
Me: She gave him her number. So, there's a chance.
Again with the look of disgust.
Me: Come on, what've you got against love? Feel the love.
Brandi: Shut the f* up, matchmaker.
(And, I've gotta point out here, that despite her show of disdain for my scheming, she did ask how it was going, so she clearly wasn't as disinterested as she pretended)

Alex: Hey, where's my girl then?
Me: I can only do so much in one night.
Alex: Come on!
Me: Besides, I heard a certain rumor about somebody giving you a kiss the other night.
He immediately turns and glares at Laura, who's in having a Guinness on her night off, and who was my source for that bit of gossip.
Me: So, I figure you're doing alright on your own.

J. asks me one more time if I think Jamie's interested, and I tell him he should definitely call her. He walks out with one of those cheesy grins on his face. I call that a productive night.

August 16th

2008-06-14T13:37:00.004-06:00

This was technically my Friday to come in early, but I requested later, so Laura got my usual slow happy hour. I was entertained. I forgot my apron and had to use one from work. Brandi was entertained.
Brandi: Your apron has a naked lady on it!

Dave clocked out early, due to the deadness, and sat down at the bar to have his shift drink. Shortly before this, a certain obnoxious regular had come in and sat at the bar.
Me: Why are you sitting all the way over here instead of at your usual spot? You're not avoiding someone, are you?
Dave: (All innocence) You know me, I wouldn't do something like that, would I? (pause) Well, maybe a little.

Then he and Brandi started talking about one of the Bobs.
Brandi: Well, you're going to be dead in a year anyway. (pause) Man, he was so serious when he said it too.
Dave: And now he's predicting my death, again. He's just not going to be happy until I'm dead. Well, I'm not gonna do him any favors.

Enter the blonde chick (who'd already been in once) and the guy with her (who hadn't). Enter, as well, a strong smell of gasoline. She's one of the pain-in-the-ass annoying types and Laura immediately turns to me.
Laura: All yours. I already had her once today.
Me: Golly, thanks.

The guy heads to the bathroom, the chick orders for both of them, tells me he helped her put gas in her car, and goes to the bathroom as well to wash her hands to get the smell off. The thought crosses my mind that hand-washing alone just won't do the trick. The thought also crosses my mind to wonder how, exactly, they were putting gas into her car. Presumably it was an exercise which went well beyond the complexity of visiting a gas station. However, sometimes, it is better not to know. The smell of gasoline has now permeated the whole place.

It's still incredibly slow, so Laura opts for a smoke break.
Laura: I'm gonna go out front and have a cigarette. Or, I could just light it in here and we could all explode.

Later on, the party crowd eases in, though not so suddenly nor so plentiful as last week. I still fight the near-overwhelming compulsion to randomly smack the back of people's heads as I walk past them. Nothing like a big, pressing, drunken crowd to bring out my violent impulses.

Two of our regulars (and you never see one without the other) find a spot at the bar near the server station.
C: How's it going?
Me: Alright, how 'bout you guys?
C: Not so bad, but I'm kinda nervous.
Me: Why's that?
C: There's so many people in here. I don't like crowds so much.
Me: Yeah, you and me both.

Most of the tables aren't especially noteable, but one was kinda funny.
A trio comes in, two guys, one gal. I greet them, then leave them with the drink menu because they don't already know what they want. After a bit, I head back over.
Me: Have you decided what you'd like?
Bleached blond guy: Not yet, she's hogging the menu.
I pull another one for them, and bleached blond looks at it intently. This is when I get a hunch about this group.
A while longer, I peek over, it looks like they've put the drink menus down.

Me: What've you decided on?
Bleached blond guy names one of our girly martinis, as does the gal. The other guy, a large dark skinned dude wearing a striped shirt, flips frantically through the menu. The voice inside my head says, "For the love of Ronald, you guys have already been here a good ten minutes, picking a drink is not that hard."
Striped shirt: I'll have a pint of Bud Light.
Really? All that and you're having a pint of beer? But, mostly, I'm just relieved that they've finally picked their booze of choice.

A short time later, striped shirt asks if we can make him a cable car martini.
Me: I haven't heard of that one, do you know what's in it?
Striped shirt: Um, it's made with rum. And... I don't know.
Me: Let me check with the bartenders, see if they know.
I check. Brandi makes a brief, yet expletive-filled comment about people who order stuff when they don't know what's in it.
Me: Sorry, they bartenders don't know that one either.
His face falls, and he accepts his fate.

If you're wondering, it seems a cable car "martini" is made with rum. Now, I'm no martini snob, but come on, that's just silly. Though, that said, it sounds like something I'd like.

Another note-worthy thing about last night - I talked with Marianne and officially gave my notice. Now, on the schedule book, is a post-it note that reads: August 16th is Ali's last day.

Let the count down begin.

Steve the Bird

2008-06-08T21:48:00.006-06:00

A few days ago, on my way out of the house, I noticed a small song bird perched on my railing. A young thing, too. It still had tufts of baby down peeking through its feathers. When it didn't fly off at my approach, I did a bad thing. I reached out and touched it. As someone who used to be a bird person, I know better, but I couldn't help myself. The bird didn't move. I shrugged, let it be, and went on my way.

Today I moved my car out on the street because my folks were painting the driveway side of the house. A little while ago I remembered this and went out to move it. As I walked up to my car, I noticed a shape on the roof. It was dark by now and I couldn't quite see it clearly. But, it was definitely bird shaped.

Sure enough, there was the bird on my car roof. As best I can tell, it's the exact same bird from the other day. He's still got the one tuft of down, even. I made an attempt to nudge him off, but no budging. So, I broke out my old Raptor Center training. First, I tried to get him to perch on my finger. Usually, this is simple - all you do is push your finger (or, usually, fist) lightly against the part where the bird's legs meet its body and the critter will step up. No dice. So, I had to grab him. I walked him over to my hanging basket, figuring it'd be as safe a place as any, and ducked inside for my camera.

I managed a few shots before Steve flew off. Unfortunately, this was the best one of them. Notice the little down tuft on the side of the head, and the stubby little tail with its not-yet-fully-grown-in tail feathers. Notice, as well, the paint on the porch, which is the first bit of the house to be done. See the blue/gray part? That's my new trim color. The old trim (though not the columns) color was pink. Vast improvement.

It would seem, after all this talk of what my totem is, I now have a flesh-and-blood one. However, much to my surprise, it's a songbird. And here, I was certain it'd be more predator-shaped. Ah well.

Isn't It Romantic?

2008-06-08T09:47:00.002-06:00

This weekend kicked off the nightmare that is B Street. I'm just infinitely happy that there will be only four of them this year, instead of the five last year.

One down. Three to go. I haven't murdered anyone. Yet.

Friday started all right. Kinda quiet once I got there and I got to spend much time teasing Laura about her "boyfriends." At some point after one round of teasing, a good looking guy walks in and sits down at the bar by himself.
Laura: He's handsome.
Me: And alone. Go get him.
Laura: Shut up. I didn't mean it like that.
Me: Yeah, sure you didn't.

A short time later, four plastic-y women, the youngest of whom is at least half a decade older than our solitary lad, glom onto him. A few drinks, a couple shots, and they warm up to each other.
Guy: My friends were supposed to meet me here. I think I got stood up.
Gals: Shame on them. Well, we're going over to B Street, you should come with us.
And he does.

As the night drags on and I'm bored becuase the big drunken horde has yet to spill over from B Street, I hang out at the end of the bar for a while.
Gal: Hey you, bartender girl...
Julia: What can I do for you? (Which is far nicer a response than I ever would have managed to that)
Gal digs out a business card and starts telling Julia about how she's a sex toy saleswoman and if Julia is interested in either another job or hosting a party...
Which, of all the things I could have thought of to follow "Hey you," that would not have been on my list.

We edge up to that magical time of the drunken horde's arrival and soon half the people taking up space are sporting arm bands. At a table of four, three want nothing, one woman "needs" a water with a lime and a lemon, but feels no need to tip.

Two guys sit down, one waves at me like he's dying.
Me: What can I get for you?
Guy: We need a couple waters and a couple beers.
I mustered much will-power not to turn and walk away at this point. We've got eight beers on tap, more in bottles, asking for "beer" is just as obnoxious as ordering "a martini." I stare at him, giving him a chance to offer more than that. He doesn't.
Me: What beers?
Guy: Uh. (turns to friend) What do you want?
Finally they figure out what they want.

Stuff like this continues for a few more hours.
Me: We're getting near to last call.
K.C.: Not near enough. Not near enough.

So, that was Friday.

Saturday morning, bright and early, my folks are at my house continuing to work on repainting it. This makes the third weekend running that they've been over bright and early on Saturday and Sunday mornings to do such. The house is coming along nicely, but the early morning activity is not good for my state of mind. We're compromising, with me heading over to their house for naps, but the situation is not ideal.

A little after noon, I head over to mom & dad's for a nap. I end up sleeping like a dead person for over three hours. When I wake up, I have a muzzy-headed feeling which, last time I had it, indicated a fever that knocked me out for a few days. It's not nearly as strong, but makes me cautious. After a quick debate about calling off, I decide I'll go in.

All's pretty quiet for a while. Then Debbie gives me a heads-up that there's a new table on the patio. I walk out, intercepting a guy who I've waited on before and don't especially like. He's in his fifties, and thinks the world of himself. We're gonna call him George. I ask what I can get for him and he puts his arm around me. I take a step away, to discourage the manhandling. He steps with me and leaves his arm.

Now, we have a number of factors at work right this moment. Despite the nap, I'm tired. Because of the nap, my head's not feeling right. Thanks to the night before, and the early morning activity, I'm not in the best of moods. And he's touching me.

I reach around, pick up his hand, and pull it the F* off me. Then we proceed with normal business. He and his date (yup, he's on a date) have two bowls of shrimp, five glasses of wine, and two salads. Eventually, he asks for the check, which has come to $45.98

After a suitable amount of time, I go out, and see cash on the table.
Me: Let me get your change.
I pick it up. It's a single twenty.
Me: I'm sorry, the bill was forty-five and change.
George: Oh, I didn't even look at the bill.
Me: (What?!) I'll give you another minute.
Because, in what universe does five glasses of wine and dinner for two cost less than twenty dollars? (I'm saying "less" because I'm assuming a tip is included)

A couple more minutes, I go back out. There are a few bills on the table this time. I assume we've cleared up the confusion. I pick up the bills, then count them as I walk away. One twenty. Eight ones. Back to the table I go.

I point to the total on the check, which is still on the table in front of George.
Me: Your total was $45.98.
George: What? Forty five? (Like that's an outrageous price)
George's date: See? I told you.
Me: Here's where everything is itemized, if that helps.

I go back in. George also comes inside shortly thereafter. Assuming he wants to give me money, I ask if I can help him.
George: Oh, no, I just wanted to come in and cool off. It's hot out there.
Riiiight.
I walk over to check on another table and see George start talking to Skunk. I also see Skunk hand him one of the bar's business cards.

Me: What was that about?
Skunk: He wanted to know who the manager was.
Me: Somehow, I'm not surprised.

At this point, I'm keeping an eye on them through the back window in the kitchen. While I'm in there, I fill Debbie in.
Debbie: Maybe he wanted her to pay half.
Me: Now, while I can appreciate splitting the bill, that's the worst way I can think of to "drop the hint."

I head out to look busy by picking up empty glasses, but really to watch for cash. After two trips out, I spot the check folded under a glass with cash. I pick up both without a word to George. A $50 bill. Whoo-hoo! A whole $4.02 tip!

I hope. I really, really hope, that George's date was taking note of all this. I know that, were I in her position, the date probably would have ended there. One can only hope.

And this, my friends, was officially the point where I considered the way I was feeling, the mood I was in, and the prospect of staying for many more hours. This was the point where I decided "screw that." Thus, as soon as Laura arrived, I departed.

I got home at about nine o'clock, making for my shortest shift ever at three hours. Then I put in a movie and laid on the floor with my dog. The best Saturday night I've had in a month. No contest.

The Happiest Night of Not Dave's Life

2008-06-07T12:19:00.002-06:00

Last weekend there was a personnel shuffle since Brandi wanted Saturday night off, so she worked the first bartender shift Friday instead of Dave so he could cover for her. Of course, our regulars, especially JP, gave her no end of crap about not being Dave. For instance, at one point he stepped into the back hall with his cell phone, called the bar, and asked for Dave - the effect was a bit ruined though, as he was speaking pretty loudly and laughing at the same time.

Then, when another regular came in...
JP: Dave's not here.
Ron: Oh.
JP: (loudly) So whatever you do, don't ask for Dave. 'Cause she's sensitive.
At which Brandi rolled her eyes.

Me: Hey, we out of popcorn tonight?
Brandi: Yeah, no oil to make it. (pause) This is the happiest night of my life.

A short time thereafter, she grabbed at her butt. Then again.
Brandi: Hey, can you see this hole in my pants?
Me: Nope, you're okay.
Brandi: Good.
After continued butt grabbing, questions about what was/was not showing, and a few laments that the hole was getting bigger, Brandi finally found some black duct tape and ducked into the bathroom for a few moments to do a patch job.

When she came out, the phone rang.
Brandi: The bar, this is Brandi.
JP, from the back hall: Is Dave there?

Now, with warmer weather, we're edging into toursit territory and I got my first batch of them Friday. A table of ten, a general mix of ages and such that made me figure a family outing. The eldest of the batch was a woman in her sixties who I goofed with.
Me: What kind of tequila would you like in your margarita?
Gal: Well, what do you like?
Me: The truth is, I hate tequila.
Guy: (laughs) Bad experience?
Me: Nah, I just don't can't stand the taste.
Gal: What would you recommend, then?
Me: Since you're doing a margarita, the house would be alright, but if you were doing a shot...
Gal: (laughs)
Me: Maybe later, huh?

I got them all their drinks and some menus, then started taking orders. Now, we have one sandwich that has "cocky" in its name, and not immediately with an "arrogant" connotation, if you get my meaning. So, when this gal ordered it, she giggled a bit.
Me: Are you blushing?
Gal: (without missing a beat) Not at my age, honey.

A fabulous table, all around and a lot of fun to have. I love it when people actually come in while they're in a good mood. It's amazing how rare that actually is. So many people come in blank faced, or frowning, that the wide, genuine smiles, are pretty uncommon. I hope that these folks continued to be in their fine mood the whole weekend and that they enjoyed what I assume was their vacation in my town.

Cheers to the happy tourists!

Things Are Not Always What They Seem

2008-06-04T13:01:00.004-06:00

Right, so here's some catching up on my bar posts. Last weekend was a funny one. I got called "mean" not once, but twice in one night!

Early in the night, within about half an hour of my arrival, there's a few people sitting at the bar and maybe two tables. I'm clearing off empty tables form folks who've left and notice that one table that never had people does have empty glassware. It also has a pair of sunglasses. After a bit of investigation I find out that the couple at the bar put all the junk there in order to, you guessed it, save the table while they're sitting at the bar. I just love people who think they own the whole world, don't you?

A woman comes in, sits at the big table. She's not ready to order yet, so I hand her the drink menu and let her ponder it. I glance over. She's now moved to the other side of the big table. Another woman comes in. The first moves back to the side of the table where she started. I head over, get a couple of drink orders, and this is when I discover that they're expecting a big group. I groan on the inside, but this proves to be all right.

More trickle in to join the table, which they then turn sideways and pull another table up to. So far, they're all women. This could go badly, but I luck out and get that statistical oddity that is a big group of single women who are nice to their female server. They stay for a couple hours, are in a great mood the whole time, and tip just fine, save for one who leaves me $20 on a $60 tab. She's awesome.

Which leads us to a unique phenomenon in the service industry - this was my weekend where I liked the single women better than the single men.

One guy, R. is a semi regular and a friend of someone I know, thus making us almost acquaintances. He comes in with another guy, also a semi regular, we'll call him OG. They walk in and survey the bar. On one side there is plenty of room, as well as another regular, C. who is obnoxious.
R. (to OG): Let's sit over there, I don't want to sit next to C. he's an ass.
OG: But, that's the waitress station.
R: (pulls up a stool and puts it directly adjacent to the computer, which means he's now in my way)
OG does not pull up a stool, but stands, as the only place now to put a stool would be directly in front of the computer. Meanwhile, C. sits in the middle of two sets of empty stools. On one hand, I can't blame R. for not wanting to sit next to that guy, he personally drives me up the wall, so I can understand. On the other, he's in my way and there are plenty of empty tables. Whatever, I go about my business.

I reach over R. to get to my water, take a sip, put it back.
R.: I'm gonna lace your water with something. I'll spike it. (chuckles like he's funny)
Me: ...
R.: (says something else, but I ignore that as well)

I'm so unimpressed I don't even look at him. Later on, I overhear him talking to Brandi about how I'm mad at him. I'm very entertained. Being mad would require energy. I'm just not paying him any attention at all, because he warrants that little of my energy.

Later on that very night, another dude hunkers down in my way. Younger this time, and not someone I recognize. At one point, while I'm putting in an order, he turns to me.
Guy: Can I push the buttons?
Me: Nope.
Guy: You're kinda mean.
Me: Yeah, that's what they tell me.

After a while, 'cause I'm bored and guess that it'll shut him up, I let him enter in a round of drinks for me.
Guy: That just made my night.
Satisfied, he stops bugging me, instead focusing his attention on the bachelorette party nearby. He's one of those in love with himself types, who thinks anything female with think just as highly of him as he does of himself. He buys them a round or two of shots. Brandi makes him and his buddy a basket of chips and salsa even though the kitchen's closed. Eventually, the guy closes his tab.
Guy's friend: That's all you're leaving for a tip?
Guy shrugs, pushes the credit card slip away from him and the two of them leave. Brandi picks up the slip, snorts, and mutters something about what's the point of doing anybody any favors. She shows me the slip. A whopping 10%.

And I'm the mean one?

New Paint Job, and A Five-ish Mile Walk

2008-05-28T21:39:00.003-06:00

This weekend my parents/landlords started painting my house. Now it's in the initial, primer colored stages of going from white with pink trim to gray with gray-blue trim, and thank Ralph for that, pink is a scary color and should have nothing at all to do with the place in which I live.

Now, while I was away from the house for a while, this is what happened: my dad, while painting on primer, bonded with my dog. This part is good. My dog, while bonding with my dad, decided to hunker down directly beneath the ladder he was using. This part is less good and more comical. The oil-based primer, while being applied by my dad, happened to drip down upon my dog. Now my dog is walking around dalmation-style with spots and streaks of white embedded in her fur. All she needs is a bit of the trim color for accent and we'll really be in business.

As I type this, Sherman is asleep. She's been asleep for a couple hours already. Lazy dog. Today we went for a relatively short walk around the riverwalk where she got to excitedly lunge for kids and I got to tightly hang on to her leash, and she got to meet a big white Newfoundland dog. Oh boy. Yesterday, though, we walked along the nature trail for about two hours. I'm not sure of our exact mileage, but I'm guessing it was somewhere around the five/six mile range, which makes it our longest walk to date. Sherman had an early night last night, needless to say (but there I've said it anyway).

Yes, I know I'm slacking on bar stuff lately in favor of dog stuff ('cause she's way more fun and new to boot). I do have bar stuff from this weekend that I'll post soon, though.

The New-Dog-Exercise-Plan

2008-05-21T21:01:00.003-06:00

While we have not, thankfully, had a repeat of that nearly-murderous night, we are still working out kinks in this whole sleeping at night thing. It tends to work best when she's had a full, tiring day. Then she crashes and is dead to the world for hours at a time.

Even before getting Sherman, I knew that a dog would get me out of the house and moving about more. However, I hadn't quite realized to what extent this would be true. These past couple of days my mindset has changed. It's not longer a matter of taking the dog for a stroll to the park, it's a matter of doing all I possibly can to wear her out during the day so I can sleep during the night.

This morning was cool and overcast, so I leaped on the opportunity to take the beast on a three-mile constitutional down by the river. This afternoon I had to pick up my check from the bar, so I packed her in the car and took her along, with a detour to walk the river walk a bit (a different place than where we were this morning in a whole other part of town). Then she got to meet Dave, Debbie, Laura and one of our regulars, all of whom offered the appropriate amount of oohing and ahhing to my wildly-excited-to-make-new-friends dog. Seriously, she's a spaz when it comes to new people, her tail goes all a blur and the rest of her body wiggles madly with the force of it.

Which is funny, because on our first walk along the river she was in a different state of mind altogether. Each time someone would approach, she'd basically get defensive and bark at them with her hackles raised. So, each time someone would approach, I'd make her sit and pet her as the jogger, walker, bicyclist, etc. went by. She caught on fast to this and now instead of wanting to warn off passersby she now desperately wants to make friends with them, especially if said passersby utter anything resembling "Oh, look at the cute doggie." It's impressive how wildly she can squirm and wag her tail when she hears that adoring tone of voice.

Right, digression over. Back to this whole wearing her out thing. Now, anyone who knows this sort of thing will tell you that one big advantage human physiology has over a four-legged construction is that, by virtue of walking on fewer appendages, it takes less energy for us to propel ourselves. Thus, while a cheatah can certainly beat us in a sprint, we can always beat a cheatah at walking. So, the relevance is that my dog gets tired faster than I do, which means we can take longer walks, which means I can get her even more tired, while not wearing myself out. Ah, biology is fun.

Currently, I'm playing the pest and doing what I can to disallow her the opportunity to sleep. Payback's a, well, you figure out the pun.