Tales From A Bar

The Barnerd

Caveman — Tue, 21 May 2013 13:24:45 +0000

I hate the word…mixologist…with all of my heart. I want to throw in the bar towel and whither up and die every time somebody asks me if I am a mixologist. Besides presenting itself as incredibly audibly gay, it is a worthless self-appointed term containing absolutely zero credibility. I am a barnerd…passionate about introducing new flavor profiles and providing a liquid journey for my customers. I enjoy studying the colorful past of cocktail creations, various liquors, experimenting with signature recipes and techniques, and everything along those lines. I love to drink beer but I couldn’t tell you jack shit about it…I am embarrassingly lacking in my wine knowledge…I am definitely not a cork dork…however, I could give you an in-depth rundown on the history of the cocktail cherry…a twenty-minute spiel regarding the production Don Julio Tequila…or talk your ear off about absinthe. Since the general public has an insatiable thirst to call a bartender anything but a bartender…I am going to fill their glass with barnerdism…which sounds fucking awesome. So tonight…I committed a premeditated twist on the libation of choice for one of my guests. From the size and water quality of the ice cubes…to changing the ingredients ever so slightly…to smoking the glass with mesquite…to the garnish…I invested time and thought into liberating this libation from its standard method of preparation. The payoff came in the form of the smiles and approval from my customer. He claimed it was one of the best beverages he had ever had. I was genuinely happy to have succeeded on my mission to successfully implement a unique experience while simultaneously learning a few new tactics along the way…and the whipped cream on the chip shot…is that he graciously handed me a hundred-dollar gratuity. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to go the extra yard. Never underestimate the power of a cocktail.

Lemon Drop

Caveman — Fri, 10 May 2013 06:35:05 +0000

The bumper bartender race has come to a conclusion. I finished just behind the leading group of higher seniority bartenders ending up with a couple of day shifts and three nights. I am happy with the results. Although I will take a small cut in pay…I will now be able to enjoy a slightly less vampiric lifestyle…I am looking forward to it. So today…was my first day shift in over five years. Considering I usually sleep in until one or two in the afternoon…getting up at eight in the morning was the hardest part of this transition. I basically stayed up all night staring in anticipation at my alarm clock. The shift itself went remarkably smooth and I enjoyed myself. It was refreshing to have different side work, different servers, different drinks, different body motions, a more laid back energy in the bar, etc. I made great money utilizing quality over quantity tactics…I had time to talk about cocktails and different liquors with my customers…which led to a lot of up selling. I connected with several people who are going to come back and visit me on my night shifts …one of which was a beautiful single lady…and got off in time to enjoy the sunset along with a couple of ice-cold Heinekens. Tonight…I am going to do more research on a couple of the higher end scotches and cognacs we sell and increase my liquor knowledge. Tomorrow morning…now that I comfortable…I am going to open the bar up a half hour early to increase my sales. It feels good to be thrown back into the trenches. The bottom line is that working a myriad of days and nights is going to mold me into a more rounded bartender. Mike…over at Life On A Cocktail Napkin…expressed it perfectly: When life hands you lemons…make a lemon drop martini!

Bumper Bartenders

Caveman — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 12:53:49 +0000

Generally, bartending jobs aren’t all that hard to acquire if you are a decent bartender and interview well. However…landing a top paying and consistent gig can take years of hard work garnished with a lot of patience…you don’t just walk into these positions. Currently, I am enjoying a great job, and I fought like hell to get it. I arose from over five years in the lonely trenches of the fruit cutting day bar to arrive at the mid-shift…where I remained stuck in limbo for another couple of years…before finally being promoted to where I am today. So tonight…I was informed my time at the top is in grave jeopardy…the company is downsizing and allowing bartenders from recently closed locations the opportunity to move in…based on seniority. There is a slight chance I will dodge a bullet, and remain where I am, and a very real possibility I will be bumped down to either day bar again or a service bar back in the kitchen. I will know in a couple of days. There is no use getting tied up in twist about what is happening. This is life…and in life…circumstances outside our control knock us down from time to time. The important thing is what you do when you find yourself facedown on the bar mats. If I get bumped…I will give my new position a hundred percent…I will look for any and all ways to make the best of it…figure out how to monetarily milk it dry…enjoy the advantages, and solve the problems of the disadvantages. Change is good. Challenges are good. Lessons in humility are even better. Fuck it. Night bar…day bar…service bar…at least I will have a bar. Everything happens for a reason.

The Office With A Bathroom

Caveman — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 11:09:19 +0000

I start off every week by promising myself that I won’t go out for drinks after work. Instead…I will be diligent, save my hard-earned tips, go straight home, wash some Top Ramen down with a couple of beers, watch South Park on Netflix, and call it a night. Unfortunately, there is a little dive bar that stays open late between my bar and my cave. I have to drive past it every night on my journey home. I usually stay strong the first half of the week, but towards the end, I tend to give in to temptation and am lured in by the entertainment I can enjoy for the cost of a cocktail. It’s the polar opposite of the upscale bar I am employed at. Fights are common and often continue in the parking lot uninterrupted by the bouncers, various drugs are abundant, gangster rap is the norm for the jukebox…anything goes at this joint. So tonight…was an extremely busy one…after 9 hours straight of slamming out drinks in overdrive mode…and fueled by Red Bull… I realized the few beers I had at home weren’t going to cut it. I stopped off at the old dive bar just in time for last call. As I enjoyed my cocktail and slowly started to unwind, I realized I had been so busy all night, I had never had a chance to take a piss. When I entered the dingy and dark bathroom…I was introduced to the shift forgetting amusement I was seeking. There was a guy posted up in the only shitter and 6 other guys standing in line. I thought this was odd and quickly jumped on the open urinal to relieve myself. As I enjoyed the incredible and very long sensation of letting a 9 hour pent-up piss loose, the deviant behavior happening around me became blatantly obvious. The man sitting on the toilet was selling coke to his long line of customers. Classic.

Good Spirits

Caveman — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 10:33:44 +0000

The last several preceding nights at the bar have remained eerily smooth. However, when you interact with as many intoxicated people as I do a shift…five to six nights a week…you are bound to hit a few speed bumps on your road to making a living. I had one guy call me dick and accuse me of trying to get rid of him, simply because I politely asked if he needed his tab. Another…a hotel manager from Las Vegas…whoopdeefuckingdo…told me I lacked enthusiasm and an entertaining personality. I think he was upset that I wasn’t visibly impressed with his stature in the service industry. And finally…a man in his late forties…threw a childish temper tantrum while his idiotic wife giggled in support…because I didn’t hook him up like the bartender did the night before. He informed me that customer service was more important than pouring the correct amount of an expensive port. I thought about cutting him off just on the basis of being such an asshole. Instead, I told him to come back when the other bartender was working because my job was more important than his ludicrous idea of customer service. So tonight…the road was freshly paved as if for an upcoming Nascar race…no potholes…no speed bumps. Free of the socially abrasive insecure drunk, the scrutinizing egotistical manager, and the ridiculous couple who were so fucking stagnant in life that they dramatized the lack of a quarter ounce into a wonderfully agonizing scene…I savored my profession as a bartender. The guests were great…they were happily enjoying themselves and the tips were rolling in at an alarmingly fast rate. It was the kind of shift where at the end of the evening you find yourself asking the bar gods why every night can’t be that easy. The customers had a positive experience…and symbiotically…so did I. Everybody was in good spirits. This was the essence of bartending. A perfect night. 86 assholes.

One Ring To Fool Them All

Caveman — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 12:33:10 +0000

The last few weeks at the bar have been great. We have been extremely busy and blessed with nice customers. If only tending bar were always this smooth and drama free. I have actually been looking forward to going to work lately. As corny as this sounds, bartending is similar to being a live entertainer…such as a stand up comedian or a rock star. We feed off the energy of our guests in the same way they do an audience. So tonight…as Steve and I were easily rolling through another slammed and enjoyable shift…I had a young newlywed couple sit with me. They were easy-going and we had a pleasant conversation when time allowed. Several slightly dirty Stoli martinis and a shared dessert later…they called it quits and requested their tab. I cleared their dessert plate and something heavy dropped into my free hand. I looked down to see his gold wedding band sitting in my palm. What the fuck? What are the chances of that? Somehow this ring had slipped off his finger into the dessert unnoticed and then managed to fall off the plate and land in my hand instead of the bar floor…where its fate would lie with the night cleaners. I handed them the bill and asked if they were missing anything. They looked puzzled. I prompted them, “Are you missing anything on your hands…perhaps?”, as I produced the ring. They were astonished. I immediately told them I was a practicing magician working on my sleight of hand skills and had liberated the ring during our time together. They were just drunk enough to believe me and I enjoyed a good laugh on the inside as they tried to figure out how I had done it. We said our farewells and I grabbed the checkbook off the bar to discover two crisp hundred-dollar bills left inside for a tip. Not a bad way to end the evening. I just hope they don’t return and ask to see some more magic tricks.

24 Years

Caveman — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 11:46:02 +0000

We have a new manager at the bar. He has a jovial personality and seems to know his shit…along with an easy-going style of managing…as well as some great ideas on improving our wine list and cocktail menu. I am actually pretty excited to work for this guy. So tonight…during our pre-shift meeting…he told us that within a few months he would turn our working environment into a much more enjoyable one than it currently is. He promised that we would have fun during our shifts. I smiled in support and reminisced on the most delightful two years I have ever served in the service industry. I was a sixteen year old busboy…along with four of my best friends…at a large Mexican restaurant. We were absolutely out of fucking control. It was total mayhem. We would start our shift by walking in the back door with a couple of cases of beer under a towel…ice them down in five gallon buckets…and hide them in the changing room. We drank most of them during the evening and traded the rest to the cooks for food. We each had the area of a small office to perform our job from…chips and salsa, bus tubs, a watering station, trash cans, and stock to reset the tables. The game was similar every night…get slightly drunk…and engage in side station sabotage. The cooks would watch in bewilderment from behind the line as we took turns sneaking into each others stations and vandalizing them. We would steal stock from each other, empty full trash cans right on the floor, spread honey on the countertop and crinkle chips all over it, pour salsa all over the place, turn the chip warmers off, etc. We also had legendary food fights…anything went…chimichangas, tacos, burritos, and whole lemons were commonly flying back and forth from our respective bus stations. When we needed a break from all the action, we would sneak into the walk-in and inhale an entire case of whip cream whippets…before carefully putting the caps back on and replacing them back in the box. Just before our shift ended, we would liberate bags of fajita meat from the kitchen and bottles of tequila from the bar…invite the older waitresses over…and continue the party at my house. I am sure this isn’t the type of fun my new manager has in mind. His statement just caused a bit of nostalgia within myself. Fast forward 24 years in the lives of the busboy mafia. One of us owns a successful catering business, another became a high-end realtor, another became a locally famous artist and an incredible underground athlete, another got involved with the Hells Angels and is still serving time for attempted murder, and I have become a bartender…keeping a scrutinizing and ever watching eye on the young busboys I work with.

Significant Bother

Caveman — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 11:11:18 +0000

I am a single forty plus year old bartender. I have never been married, have no kids, and all of my serious relationships have ended in a catastrophic climax after a year or so. Finally…having learned my lesson…I happily abandoned the pursuit of a significant bother over two years ago…trading the quest for love in for the love of the one night stand. Women are incredibly observant creatures. Young and single girls come into the bar, immediately see me as the pig I have become, and run to the hills…older and married ones come in…witness me proudly swilling in my swine status…and smell a ripe opportunity to have some fun on the side. Yes…I have slept with a few married women. However, my conscience is clear because I don’t believe in the laws and rules associated with wedlock. Along with religion and politics…marriage is just another illusion created by our thriving society of fucking lemmings…another foolish fallacy of how and why we are expected to live our lives. I wouldn’t take it too seriously. If a loser bartender can break through the sacred institutions walls with relative ease and gorge on the forbidden fruits inside…the structure must be pretty weak. So tonight…as we approached last call…a stunning blonde lady I had served all evening along with her owner…broke away from the husband and approached me at the bar. After a bit of small talk, she bluntly asked for my number. I replied dryly with a…why?…as I glanced at the rock displayed on her ring finger. Without missing a beat, she said, “You know why.” Game on! I quickly scribbled my number on a cocktail napkin and slyly handed it across the bar to her. I hope she calls. Sometimes it’s fun to bring your work home with you.

Cavelife

Caveman — Fri, 22 Feb 2013 11:46:36 +0000

I apologize for the recent stagnancy in bar stories. My old computer died at the beginning of this month and I had unfortunately been left without the luxuries of the internet. It was rough. No checking e-mails, stocks, news, weather, bank accounts…no You Tube videos, Facebook, Pandora Radio, Netflix, random Google searches, goofing around in the blogoshpere…and a complete lack of internet porn. Like I said…it was rough. I caved in a couple of days ago and charged a kick ass spanking brand new iMac on my already heavily laden credit card. I am extremely happy with my purchase. I can keep Tales From A Bar up to date and now my internet porn is much more visually spectacular than ever before.

Intellectually Lazy

Caveman — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 23:43:00 +0000

People who ask the bartender stupid questions aren’t necessarily stupid…or even ignorant…they are intellectually lazy. Some customers would rather proudly ask imbecilic questions than put forth the slightest effort of a thought process. Here are just five I hear on a nightly basis:

Can I ask you a question? You just did jackass. Clearly you have the ability to ask me a question. Of course, I will humor you and say, “Yes.” Now I am really looking forward to finding out if your second question is dumber than your first.
Do you live around here? No. I live in Taiwan, but since the tips are so extravagant here…including the one you are about to leave me…I fly in five times a week to provide you with answers.
What is your name? Justifiably, this is not really a stupid question…unless you have been sitting at the bar for more than a minute. It’s pretty fucking obvious I have not just one name, but many…Bartender, Hey, Hey Hey, Hey Pal, Yo, Yo Yo, Yo Yo Yo, Barkeep, Dude, Buddy, My Friend, Hey My Friend, Bro, etc. I even have secret Native American Indian names…Various Whistles, Frantic Hand Gestures, and Snapping Fingers.
What’s good? How about a wonderfully refreshing cocktail of Well…What The Fuck Do You Like To Drink? I Forgot My Psychic Abilities At Home That Help Me Determine What A Complete Stranger Deems As…Good? You really should try it. It’s my specialty.
Is the bathroom close? No. In an effort to better serve our customers…we placed it a few miles away…we believe the exercise will be beneficial for you. Here is a map. Last call is in twenty minutes…so if you want another drink…you had better hurry.