19 April 2012

I am going to have to rename this blog Krissy's Bitchy Bartending

One must assume, from the last four posts on this blog, that I hate my job, or that I am an incredibly bitchy bartender.

Neither is true. I love my job and I am only bitchy on occasion.

I guess I could write all the good things about my job, but that isn't nearly as much fun for me... or my readers.

So, to keep you entertained and also to keep my brain from exploding, here are just a few more examples of  jack-off/dick headed/stupid bar bitch behaviors that drive me insane as a bartender.

Do not park your motorcycle in front of the door and rev your fucking engine. I'm sure that someone, somewhere thinks you look like a hard core biker and that you must be super fucking awesome. No one in the bar thinks so because we are choking on the exhaust fumes, and I am probably saying that you are a jack-off out loud, which is something I reserve for extremely rare occasions.

"What do you mean a six pack is..." X amount of dollars? "They are only $6 at the liquor store."
Super.
You aren't at a liquor store, now are you?
You can pay the extra 2 dollars for a six pack at 3am or you can wait until the liquor store opens.

"You can't call last call yet... it's only 2:58." Which is weird, since I just did.

"Well, there goes your tip, and I was gonna give you $5"...Well, woo-fucking-hoo. If I am irritated enough to be rude to you, I really don't care about your tip.

No, I am not making your drinks weaker... You can no longer taste the alcohol because you are fucking drunk. But in an effort to keep you happy, I will splash some vodka on the top.

If I keep forgetting to get you the shots you ordered it's because you are drunk and I am trying to slow you down without cutting you off.

I know that there is going to be cocaine in a bar. At least have the fucking respect to be discreet about it, Asshole.

Don't. Sell. Drugs. 
At least not in my bar to my customers. I could give a fuck about the drugs people do and where they do them, but when you come into my bar and sell my customers Xanax, only one of two things can happen. Either they are going to pass out on my bar, at which point I am obligated to check their pulse every few minutes, or they are going to become raging fucking assholes when they mix it with liquor. And I am going to have to deal with it.
So don't do it.
Fuck stick.

"I'll take your garbage out for a free beer..." Or not, since the boss is paying me to take the garbage out. I doubt he wants to pay you with beer to do my job.

I sincerely doubt that you didn't notice your tampon landed on the floor instead of in the garbage. Pick it up, you nasty fucking bitch.

How would you like to clean up my vomit? If you miss the john - grab a fucking paper towel and clean it up. If you miss the bathroom altogether, I will hand you a mop.
 No shit. 

Stop telling me that you are drunk. I am not supposed to serve drunk people. *This one? I do it all the time. Every time I get drunk, in fact.*

If I spill your drink, I will give you another one. If you spill your own drink, why in the hell would you ask if you have to pay for another one?

I pour the shot glass to the rim because the bar is dark and I am as blind as a fucking bat. I don't do it on purpose to make you spill it on yourself.
Usually.

There are ashtrays all over the damn bar. Why is so fucking hard for you to use one instead of throwing your butts on the floor?

"Put it on so and so's tab." No, not unless so and so is here to agree that it's on his tab.

"Oh my god that's my ex-boyfriend..." covers face with hand.
Right, because I am totally believing that you didn't know he was here.
Stalker.

Odd.
 I am feeling all kinds of well adjusted since I began all this venting and ranting.



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