07 December 2012

Tampons, Homeless Penises and Journalizing Patrons


"I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol  has taken out of me."
Winston Churchill

I collect random quotes from the bar I work in. I don't bother to put them in context, and more often than not I have no idea exactly what the conversations are about. 
So... In no particular order, and completely out of context once again, some of my favorite bar quotes.

"I was all wrapped up in blankets in my truck. I was pretty convinced I was a turtle for a good four hours."

"It's like watching porn in HD, you know when you can actually see the daddy issues." 

"It's true. I raped the firewood. In the most nonsexual way possible."

"Now I'm Playtex? What happened to calling me Clorox? What do you mean I'm a generic tampon?" 

"Justin Beiber has no place in our alcoholism."

"Her voice. Dude. No. My drinking makes me smarter than the sound of her voice."

"Because, apparently? You can't accidentally put it in the wrong hole twenty-five times in a row."

"And then my brother said he and his wife were going to try to have another baby and I was like, 'Dude? Why the fuck would you do that? Who does that on purpose?'"

"The fuck? Krissy. You only work two fucking days a week. Clean your damn car out."

"Well it's not that the food didn't agree with me. It's just all the liquor in my belly didn't agree with the food."

"Ah. Rumpleminz. I've ruined many a family holidays with Rumpleminz. And Yukon Jack."

"What the Hell is this Facebook? If they put my picture up on there I'm not gonna end up all naked, am I?"

"Shit. Call Bob. We're gonna need back up. There are Republicans in the bar."

"People always ask me that, what I think about the war...To tell you the truth, I'm no Captain America, all wrapped in the flag or some shit. I just had a job to do. So I just did my job, made sure I got home. Made sure the guys next to me got home."

"Well I got a free puppy and a reach around... So, I'm winning."

"Krissy, any day not in your head is a good day."

"Hell no, I'd rather jack off a bobcat."

"Can I get a Long Island? And, hey, can you make it kinda strong?"

Guy 1: "Dude. Shh. She's gonna put us in her blog."
Guy 2: "Huh? Are you a journalist?"
Me: "No, I am not a journalist."
Guy 1: "Oh yes you are. Please don't journalize us, okay?"

"I have a change of clothes in my car. In case I have to sleep on someone's floor. And a mop. In case I have to mop the floor before I sleep on it."

"We're gonna have one more drink...Then we are going to go eat bugs."

"Al Capone killed my relatives. The Valentine'd Day Massacre? Those were my relatives. Yeah. And... That's why I'm eating bugs right now."

"That's disgusting, look at that. Dog puts its whole face right in the water. Right in it. Doesn't even appreciate the ice. I bet he doesn't even know there's ice in there."

"That's not a dog. That's a fucking marcupial."

"No, Krissy. I am far too drunk to do the Monkey walk all the way home. I am also far too drunk to do the monkey walk to the car. What the Hell is the Monkey's walk anyway?"

"Fuck your mother. In the nicest way possible. See? I even said it with a smile and  everything."

"I didn't know a man could catch chlamydia from a woman."
To be fair here, the guy meant to say Candida.

"On the crazy broad scale from one to ten? I'm gonna put you somewhere between 4 and 6. I mean you're an awesome person, but you're definetly batshit crazy."

"What!? You inability to get laid has nothing to do with what party is in office."

"Dude. Think about it. If you're on a ship with a couple hundred dudes for months at a time. Eventually? You're fucking a sea cow."

"Oh God, please shut up. You are so going to make Krissy's blog."

"Damnit... It's man love Thursday!"

"But. Hey. My penis is homeless!"

"Dive bar tour 2012? See. That's what they do, man. Just go to bars and try to get themselves killed."

"I won't admit I know you two. But if you get killed, I'll testify at the trial."







17 September 2012

Things No One Really Needs to Know at 5AM



The best and worst of problem of bartending is that when all of the normal people in the world are waking up for work, or soundly sleeping, bartenders are getting home, winding down, checking e-mails, facebook and waiting for the alarm clock to sound so they can wake up their kids and get them to school and finally pass out.
At least this bartender is.

Sometime after e-mails and facebook, there is little to keep my eyelids open but television.
Why not just go sleep?
Because if I am not awake to see the kids off to the bus?
Husband dozes a bit in the chair while they dress and get ready.
Which means their socks don't match, if they wear any, they do not brush hair or teeth and they tend to go to school without breakfast and dressed like homeless children.
Trin also decides to wear her makeup to school French hooker style.
The school serves breakfast, so you wouldn't think it'd be a big deal, but really? I do not want CPS to find out my kids don't eat breakfast.
I also do not want the school calling to ask my why my 11 year-old daughter is wearing size 6X shorts with jeggings.
So... I usually watch the Animal Planet channel until they get up.
This is because they never go to paid programming in the wee hours of the morning. A fatigued brain and infomercials are a bad mix.
I learned that when I found myself perched on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, ready to commit to life long payments of ONLY $29.95 for a carpet cleaner.
I do not have any carpet in my house.
So, yeah. Animal Planet it is.

At 5am? The channel puts on some disturbing shit.
For example?
There was some documentary about wildlife in Africa or somewhere that involved a dead hippo.
The film crew sits in the dark and films the scavengers that come to feed off the carcass.
Yeah. Fucking super.
I learned this morning that hyenas are quite possibly the most disgusting animals on the planet.
Not only are they eating the rotting carcass of a hippo, they like to roll on it, because who doesn't want to smell like a dead, decomposing hippo?
Then I learned that crocodiles are scavengers, which I didn't know.
Hyenas do not like crocodiles, they will fight for the meal if there are only a few crocs, but as soon as the whole party shows up?
Hyenas are no where to be found.

I also learned that lions are mostly assholes.
They come and chase away the hyenas AND the crocs, sniff the dead hippo and then wander away.
They don't want to eat the hippo, they just don't want anyone else to eat the hippo.
So, lions are just dicks.

Also, at some point, I realized that some asshole had placed a camera INSIDE the dead hippo.
The fuck?
I mean, in the name of science and all that?
Who the fuck cares what happens to a dead hippo?
Really?
  
AND THEN some crazy lady suits up, because hippos carry deadly bacteria, like anthrax, which I also did not know.
She wants to examine the contents of the hippo's stomach, which contains grass. Huge fucking surprise there, huh?
Useful to know though, that should I ever come across a hippo carcass, I shouldn't touch it.
Anthrax and all that, because otherwise I would probably go over and pet it and shit.

As the alarm goes off, I get up to get the girls ready with a slightly nauseated feeling, thinking about dung beetles, stinky hyenas, vultures, crocodiles and wondering how they decided which asshole had to wade through crocodiles and hyena to shove a camera in the dead hippo's belly.
And also wondering, who the fuck cares what happens to animal carcasses in the wild and what sort of person suggests such a study.
I find myself questioning their mental status as well as the mental status of the people that choose to fund such a study...

Hmm. Let's donate money to something... 
Cancer research? Alzheimer's research? Parkinson's, MS, diabetes, any other debilitating disease research?
No, no. I want my contribution to make a difference.
Goodwill, Salvation Army, Humane Society?
Nope.
Dead hippo decomposition?
YES!!! YES! That's the one I want to contribute to!

10 September 2012

More Free Advice No One Should Need Before Buying a Bar

To no one in particular...

In case you ever want to own a bar, these are examples of what not to do. They shouldn't have to be said, but apparently they do.

Your customers appreciate a free beer once in a while. It's perfectly acceptable to say, "I got that" when someone orders a beer. 

It is not okay to say "I got that" to every single order for an entire evening whenever anyone orders anything. That is how you run a seven hundred dollar tab in a single night.
Then you wonder why you aren't making any money.
You have to be fucking kidding me.

First, you are paying for your own liquor twice.
You are paying the wholesale... and then giving away what is at least $3.75 EACH SHOT, that someone already ordered and was going to pay for!
No one should have to tell you how fucking retarded that is.

Second, you aren't tipping the bartender.
The person you are buying shots for certainly isn't tipping the bartender.
So your bartender is pissed off, and you can't pay your phone bill.
Sure, you're just trying to be a nice guy... but you're a jack off.

I may have already mentioned not getting all fucked up in your own bar.
I don't mean tipsy and happy.
I mean all kinds of fucked up.

It is never, ever, ever... fucking ever okay to claim that you are going to get your gun and shoot all of these mother-fuckers. 
No one shoots people in their nightgowns, and these mother-fuckers just happen to be your customers.
Jack off.

It is also not okay to get drunk, wander around your own bar and tell anyone that will listen that your husband is cheating on you every time he leaves your sight.
The fuck is wrong with you?

If you want everyone out of the bar by 3:30?
If you're pissed off because that one guy walked out with an open bottle of beer?
If you expect your bartenders to play bouncer?
Probably you should hire bigger fucking bartenders.

It is perfectly legal for there to be drinks on THE BACK BAR after 3:30am.
One would assume you understood this concept when you stagger your drunk ass back into the bar at a quarter to five in the morning and order shots for yourself and your friend.
Plus, if you are going to follow the laws by the book, maybe you should start with following the laws for fuck's sake.
All of them.

If you can't meet your overhead?
You should probably lower it.
That doesn't mean fire all your employees and claim that they all just up and quit and then hire all new employees to take their spots at the same pay.
Want a really simply way to lower your costs?
Turn the motherfucking air conditioner down a little bit, or even off for the TEN TO TWELVE HOURS that no one is in there.

A bar without women with a fucking money pit.
No guys want to spend their time in a bar without women.
No straight guys anyway.
Women will not come into a bar where they feel uncomfortable.
A sure way to alienate women?
The "helicopter".
You are the fucking owner of this establishment!
No one wants to see you pull your dick out and wave it around.
Creep.

Do not ever claim that the reason you are unable to pay for entertainment is because a bartender took a whole two days of her pay out of the register.
We make $5 an hour.


Do not stand outside the door of your competition and yell to their patrons that anyone that comes to your bar will get a free shot.
Why?
Because, they are going to come over, take a shot and go back to what they were doing at the other bar.

In case you are unaware, you are further fucking yourself when you take money out of your own cash register to take your own customers down the road to the other bar to buy them shots.
You've been around for too long for people to believe you're doing it in good faith.
You are not supporting anyone, or winning customers.
You are making an ass out of yourself.

If you feel like everyone is out to get you, you should probably analyze your concept of business.
If you are unable to accept responsibility for the fact that your business is failing?
You have no business owning a bar.
Or any business, for that matter.
You can not continue to blame other people, or yell obscenities at the competition because you are losing your asses off.



09 September 2012

So you want to be a bar owner, huh?

There are a few things one has to have in order to own and operate a successful bar.

First and foremost, testicles.
Meaning that you have to be willing to face conflict, fire people and be assertive.
If you can't?
You have no business owning a bar.

If you can not pay your employees?
You probably shouldn't be paying out $200-400 a night for your entertainment.
If the bar is in a small town and you've been fucking your employees over consistently for the last few years?
Stop denying it and trying to make excuses.

Stop for a moment and realize that you have a certain responsibility to your employees.
There's not a whole hell of a lot of job security in bartending, but wondering from day to day whether I will be able to feed my kids takes a toll on our owner/employee relationship.
You can not continue to play games with peoples' lives and not expect any repercussions. Again, with the small town thing.
People will eventually realize that you are not good people, and they certainly won't want to frequent your establishment.
Once you have lost the respect of your employees as well as your patrons? You're pretty much screwed.

Do NOT get all fucked up in your own bar.
You can't complain about an unpaid $35.00 tab when you are running a $700 tab in your own bar.
Then?
If you do get all fucked up?
Do NOT alienate your guests.
Idiot.
Do NOT stand in the middle of the street and yell "FUCK YOU" to the bar next door.
You look like a lunatic.

If you can't afford to buy liquor and beer and meet your payroll?
You are doing something wrong.
Continuing to do it wrong, over and over, doesn't make any fucking sense.

Maybe, just maybe, you should suck it up and admit that you are clueless.
Maybe you are in way over your head and it's no one's fault but your own.

If you want to know why business has been declining so rapidly, and you aren't seeing any profit, despite your bartender, entertainment and atmosphere changes?
The problem, quite obviously, is you.

05 September 2012

Unfit for Human Company

I'm all wound up.
Stressed.
Smoking like a chimney, every muscle clenched.
Hurts like hell but I can't seem to relax them.
Self medication.
Tequila.
Too tired to sleep.
I've been here before. 
It's not a pretty place to be.
So angry.
So fucking angry.
Anger with no direction is a bad, bad thing.
Leaves you on edge, constantly.
Leaves you waiting, praying actually, that someone will say one wrong thing to you.
The bullshit with the VA... My god I am tired of filling out forms and mailing shit.
And then having to mail more shit.
Then?
They send you letters that you don't understand and no one is ever available to explain them.
They don't even give you an option to wait on hold anymore.
They give you an appointment time, say they will call you in a week.
They never do.
Then they schedule a home visit so they can tell you something or another about retro pay.
Fiduciaries, character references, budget plans and expenses, copies of every fucking thing that you don't actually have on hand, a list of all your relatives, living and dead, all the way back to Adam and Eve. All signed in blood. With witnesses.
I'm exaggerating here slightly.
How do they not know that I am too fucking tired and overwhelmed to deal with this shit?
Or any shit?
I am needing to crawl in a hole right now, and not speak to anyone.
The caregiver's program is awesome, but it's more paperwork.
The fact that it's obviously a necessary step doesn't fucking matter at this point.
I am hating paper.
Really.
Giving the notebook dirty looks and everything.
Who the hell hates paper?
Ridiculous.
I know it's all necessary, I know it all has to be done, and it will be, but I don't have to happy about doing it.
I know it's really not their fault and they deal with overwhelmed families all the time.
I just had to bitch about it all for a minute.
Gonna go crawl under a rock now.
Which sounds bad, but isn't.
I do not even have the capacity to nice to people right now.
Any people.
Better off alone under a rock cursing at no one.

12 August 2012

Randomness,Lion Balls, Autism and Marsupials

I thought the kid was retarded.
Genuinely.
I thought he was brain damaged in some sort of way.

He's not.
I think he may be on the autism spectrum somewhere.
He is incredibly intelligent, honest to a fault, which means that he is also rude as hell.
In some fascinatingly endearing way.
He's absolutely hilarious and if you are having the very worst day of your life?
Buy him shots, sit back and watch the show.

He says shit without understanding that he shouldn't say it.
So and so will tell him that he has recently proposed to Miss So and so, and he will congratulate So and So and then tell the poor bastard that Miss So and So once gave him the best blow job of his life.
He truly does not understand that it is just not right to say shit like that, whether it is true or not. 
I made it my mission to point out some of his less than socially acceptable behavior.
Yes, there was tequila involved.

I vaguely remember telling him that I had thought he was retarded and that I had marveled at the fact that I have never ever seen someone have to talk themselves out of getting their ass beat so many times on a daily basis.
I then admitted that I liked him a little bit, having noticed that every time he was involved in a confrontation, he was always just trying to make right for whatever fucked up thing he may have said.
To a fault.
The guy will apologize for hours for the same thing.
Over and over and over.
I am not entirely sure he understands why he is apologizing, he just knows that something he has said offended someone.
He is always sorry to have offended them, even if he doesn't really get why the statement would be considered offensive.


That said, I now know why people buy the kid shots all the time. When he is not being rude to someone, he is fucking hilarious.
He has a theory that at some point, he may be attacked by a lion.
Or possibly a bear.
He tells us that if he was attacked by a bear.
He is absolutely not going to play dead.
He is going to poke the bear's eye out or something. 
He's not joking.
If he is attacked by a lion? 
That maybe broke out of the zoo or something and is really hungry?
He is going to tuck and roll and grab the lion's balls.
He figures that he will have a chance to make a getaway because he knows of no animal other than pitbulls and humans that will fight when they are wounded.
Obviously, he doesn't count a mother bear protecting her young.
He thinks if he is ever attacked by a bear, it will probably be because the bear is hungry.
Who knows?
He may be right.
He thinks he will probably lose a limb, or die even, but he would be content at having hurt the attacking animal before he died.
I am awaiting the next installment.
What if a lioness breaks out of the zoo?
They do not have balls.
He is pondering.
Says he will get back to me.

He recently discovered his fear of raccoon.
It's not unfounded.
He was fishing, in the daylight.
A raccoon approached him.
He claims that it was maybe a pet or something and wanted food.
Said it was walking right toward him, broad daylight.
I would assume in the middle of the day in late July?
Rabies.
Or distemper at the least.
He says it freaked him out.
I don't blame him.

So, on one of the very worst days of my life, I bought shots for him, all night long, sat back and watched the show.
On the patio of a bar in the neighborhood, he spotted another patron's dog.
It was a Pug.
He swears that it was a marsupial.
He was not comforted by my insistence that it was not a marsupial and that even if it had been, it was a good one because it was the middle of the night and therefore probably not rabid.
He still says he is going to kick it if it comes at him.
The tiny, cute little Pug.
I have to explain that it is not socially acceptable to threaten people's dogs.
Especially little dogs.
That maybe wear clothes.
People that put clothes on their dogs are not normal pet owners.
He was still proclaiming the dog to be a rabid marsupial when we exit the bar.

It is, for this reason, he will be referred to as "Pug" in any other mentions on this blog.


07 August 2012

Weekend Highlights, Crazy Women, Xanax and a Full Moon

The door guy was drunk when we got there.
Shit happens, right?
Probably he would have gotten through the night okay if he hadn't asked for a shot fifteen minutes into his shift.
So... he got sent home.
Which meant we had to check every ID that came through the door.
Which is a pain in the ass when it gets super busy.
Then we irritate the shit out of people because we don't remember everyone, we don't know if the other bartender checked the ID of an individual or not and we end up double or triple carding people.

I overhear some talk of "ladders".
And I KNOW, absolutely that it is going to be a bad fucking night.
If you do not know, this refers to Xanax pills.
The really big ones.
I have only seen two things happen when Xanax is mixed with alcohol.
People get violently angry for no reason, develop retard strength and generally end up in fights and jail.
Or they pass the fuck out and I feel obligated to check their heart rate every so often. That shit kills people when they mix it in with alcohol.

Then, twenty minutes into my shift, I get that girl... Yeah, the same one. 
Spilled her drink last time...
She orders a double shot, I measure it with an ounce and a quarter shot glass, meaning that she actually ends up with two and a half shots in her glass.
Since the girl insists on getting something for nothing, she tries to tell me five minutes later that I didn't give her a double shot.
She pours what is in her glass into two one-ounce plastic glasses, it only fills one and a half of them, and shrugs.
"I know you didn't measure it or anything, so it's not your fault... but this isn't a double shot and I haven't even touched it." She is all sweetness and innocence.
"Actually," I tell her, unable to keep my, what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you expression off my face, "I did measure it, and you actually got two and a half shots."
She is not so sweet when she mentions that she will not order any more.
I wonder if I will get in trouble for telling her to just go ahead and leave now.

Then, the other girl.
She orders a Corona, which I open and serve her.
Then she asks how much it costs and wants to get a cheaper beer.
I roll my eyes and put the open Corona in the cooler, reasonably sure I can sell it later, but annoyed nontheless.

Then the pre-drinker comes in and orders two pitchers of beer before deciding to sing karaoke.
Which would have been super had he not spent ten minutes on the microphone yelling and making various statements before singing.
Twice.
I wonder how much I would have to pay the karaoke guy to throw away the rest of this kid's slips.

Then, there is some disturbance on the floor between a guy and two or three other people. I am still unsure of the events that lead up it, because I couldn't even pretend to care at that point. We told the guy to leave. He declined.
We told him a bit more harshly and he stumbled around outside for a few moments, tried to come in again, got angry that he was denied entry and then he forgot he even wanted to come in and wandered away.

AND THEN... just before closing some crazy bitch. 
Her and her friend sit at a table and are perturbed when the other bartender takes away the drinks they have brought in with them. The crazy one is further annoyed by the fact that we refuse to serve her at all. 
She then proceeds to make a scene in the bar, accusing some guy that has just come in of assaulting some other girl in some other bar.
I have no idea whether this is a true statement, and I don't care.
If he assaulted some girl somewhere else?
Not my fucking problem.
The girl is told to leave.
She also declines.
She attempts to jump over the guy standing between her and the first guy.
The middle guy grabs her arms, gently, and steers her towards the door.
She starts screaming about being assaulted, tells us that the bar is trash and calls the other bartender a slut before walking out and then back in again.
The other bartender informs her that she is calling the police to deal with her and the girl leaves.
She walks down the block, she suddenly decides that she has not made a big enough ass of herself just yet, so she turns around for her fourth attempt and is detoured by a squad car.
I can only assume her stupidity is not solely alcohol based and wonder how many Xanax she has eaten this evening.

Three o'clock comes around and we lock the door with a huge sigh of relief. We toast each other, and proclaim this night to have been the worst bartending experience ever.
Fuck you full moon.

24 July 2012

The Lies I Tell... Everyone

I lie to people.
All the time.
Bosses, friends, coworkers... children, mine and other peoples, and also random strangers.
Just in case anyone has ever believed a word that I've said...

I am not now, nor have I ever been, on a methamphetamine and laxative diet.

While snorting drugs does make them work faster, I don't actually snort my daily vitamins.
Or anything else that I have claimed works better if you snort it, including but not limited to, zinc, magnesium,  tobacco, tequila or bologna.

I was not, in fact, born a poor black child. 

I do not really believe we should arm small children to make classrooms safer. 


I don't use bath salts.
I just like to say "bath salts". 
At ridiculous random moments.
I also like to yell "MEDIC" and "GET OFF THE X!" when it's busy at work.

"That" did not actually also happen to me once. Whatever "that" may be at a particular moment.

Any statement that is immediately followed by the words, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," should never be considered actual advice.
Ever.

My dad was also not born a poor black child.

My husband was born in the USA. So he really doesn't have a green card, but it is not because he is an illegal alien from Mexico.

We do have running water and electricity at my house.

I did not lose a leg in any war that I did not go to.

I do not handcuff my children together when they fight.
I want to, but I'm pretty sure DCFAS would frown on it.
I also do not discipline them with a stun gun.
I really don't discipline them at all, they are all heathens.

I do buy shoes for the babies in the summertime.

I was not there when Kennedy was killed.
Obviously I was not the guy on the grassy knoll. 

I do not let the dog clean the kids off instead of bathing them.
Unless they puke.
Shit.
That's a lie also.

I did not, at any time, apply nail polish with a paint roller.
It looks like I do, but I didn't.


My balls did not, in fact, drop well after puberty.
They did not drop at all.
I don't have testicles.







19 July 2012

Rest Easy

We were kids together.
The 4 of us, mostly, because Jay was so much older.
Road trips with Grandma.
God, we must have driven her insane.
Those damn trees, remember?
"Look at the pretty trees..."
She talked about them the whole way down to Indy.
Payback probably for the bouncy balls and the gum in her car's carpet.
For the cigarette butts behind her garage.
Remember how she always knew when we had been smoking pot?
I still don't know how she knew.

Christmas Eve and Easter Day.
Coloring eggs.
You stapled my finger.
You tried to shoot me with the nail gun when we were doing the roof.
We had the whole damn world in front us.

Your brother's wedding.
All those boys, and finally that baby girl you were so enamored with.
We joked about taking a collection in the family to pay for a vasectomy for you.
I'm sorry now.
For not understanding.
For judging you.
For not realizing that you weren't you anymore.

You made it easy, all those things you did wrong.
Immoral and illegal.
Chasing that motherfucking dragon.
Anything for the drug.
I didn't understand.
You had demons I couldn't see.
Wouldn't have understood them if I had.
I didn't understand, then, what that drug did to people.
How it changes you.
Controls you.

That last high.
I won't pretend to understand it.
Seems so simple to me, you had so much going for you again.
Seemed like you were going to make it this time.
You didn't.

So here we all are, grieving for you.
For all that you were and all that you could have been.
All of your children, fatherless now.
Your mother, devastated by the loss of her firstborn.
Your brother.
God, your brother.
You two were inseparable for so long.
Your dad.
Grandma.
She's heartbroken.
One should never have to bury a child, a grandchild.
It happens, I know.
That doesn't make it better, easier.

I wish you'd known how much you were loved.
I wish you hadn't gone back to that dark place.
Where you were all alone.
Where you couldn't see a way out, except for that high.
Just a few years ago, we all expected this day.
It would have hurt, but it wouldn't have shocked so many people.
We all had faith that you'd make it this time.
Makes it so much harder to accept.

At least you're out of the darkness now.
Rest easy, Cousin.
I pray you find the peace in death that you couldn't find in life.

14 July 2012

Hey. Jack Off...Just keep your tip.

#1. Again, with the drugs... What you do is your own business. Since you appear to be missing some vital connections in your brain, I'm gonna let you in on the fact that not everyone appreciates being approached and asked if they would like to buy some prescription drugs.
Fucking really.
Why the fuck would you ask someone you don't know if they want to buy drugs?
I don't like seeing anyone go to jail... but just once? I'd like to see someone whip a badge out and simply grin. 
Plus? If you are going to sell drugs? Sell fucking drugs. 
Grow some balls and sell heroine or something.
Jack off.

#2 If you throw up? If you fall asleep? If you can not walk, talk or even gesture?
Go. 
The.
 Fuck.
 Home.
 Why do you want to drink more? 

#3. Do not act like twelve year old children on lunch hour. 
I don't mind cleaning up when you leave, but at least pretend to be a grown up for the few hours that you are in the bar.
If you insist on throwing beer and ice and water and whatever else?
If you want to get in goddamn food fights inside the bar?
CLEAN IT THE FUCK UP.
If you insist on leaving a god awful mess when you leave every time you come in?
I'll just ask you to leave.
Trust me, it's worth your two dollar fucking tip to not have to stay an extra hour cleaning up your mess.
Jack off.

02 July 2012

The Moon Is In The 7th House of Jack-Off

My horoscope says that the moon is entering my 7th House of Others.
I don't know what the fuck that means.
But I am reasonably sure that when the moon is in such a house, it is a bad sign for bartenders everywhere.

Every random thing I have ranted about on this blog?
Every random behavior?
Had them all in the last week, I think.
Must be the planetary alignment.
Or?
People have read these blogs and are going out of their way to be featured in them.
While no one actually had  sex in the bathroom?
They intended to and were interrupted.
No one left their tampon on the floor, but they left the wrapper.
The guy that wants a beer, and doesn't care which kind and them bitches because "Budweiser is the worst beer ever..." Guess he'll know what he wants next time, huh?
The "I don't know what I want, make me something fruity..."
The I am going to run your ass off ALL NIGHT LONG and not tip you a single fucking time.
The jackoff that wants to get involved in someone else's shit and then tell customers he knows the boss and will have them barred.
The "Can you actually put some liquor in my drink please..."
GUM in the ashtray, tobacco spit and cigarette butts in bottles.
And just when I was thinking, at least I didn't have to clean up puke... I did.
And then some I haven't bitched about yet....

"Hey! I gave you a 50 and you didn't give me my change."
Hmm. No, drunkass you did not give me a 50. Normally, I am willing to consider than I saw it wrong and gave the wrong change...but there isn't a single fifty dollar bill in the drawer.
 Not one.
You've been dropping your money all over the god damn floor and hopping from one bar to the other all night long. I would assume that you spent it elsewhere.
When you wake up sober in the morning?
You will realize that you are a Jackoff.

Hey, that whatever that I ordered... I don't have any money, so just throw that on my tab, okay? I'll pay it later."
No, jackass.
First of all, no, just no. 
Second, you now owe me $10.00.

"I drank a whole bottle of rum before I got here!"
Fucking super, kid.
Go the fuck home.

The younger kids, screaming over the band.
Wrestling, yelling and just being overly obnoxious?
Please be aware of your environment.
You have every right to enjoy yourselves, but try to have a little respect.
If the band asks for a moment to make an announcement?
Lower your noise level a few octaves.
You don't have to listen and you don't have to care what they are announcing, but you should have the respect to let the announcement be heard by the rest of the bar.

Tip the band.
Yes, they get paid to perform.
But then, I get paid to sell beer.
Waitresses get paid to serve food.
If you like them?
If you listen to them all night, request songs and enjoy yourselves?
Give credit where it is due and throw a five or ten in the tip bucket.
A dollar even.


"I know you called last call, but can a get a...."
No, it is 3:15 in the morning.
That is the fucking point of last call.

"How much is a ...."
$5
"$4.00?"
No, five dollars.
"4.00?"
I don't have time to barter the shit.
I'm agreeing and paying the extra dollar just to get you to shut up.

"Do you have Smirnoff White Grape vodka?"
And then a roll of the eyes and I hear you bitching about your service...
Go the fuck home.
It is not my fault we do not have that particular flavor of vodka.
I don't order the shit.
We have at least twenty fucking flavored vodkas, pick a different one.
Furthermore?
You're a jack off.