One of the great/awful things about working in the biz is that you come across some of the biggest assholes you could ever imagine. You also come across some truely remarkable human beings. Tonight was one of those nights.
First the good. I have been making an attempt to stop smoking. I suppose if I succeed I'll have to change the name of this blog to "I need a Xanax break", but I guess that would work too. Anyway, I went to the doc and got a script for Chantix. I've tried to quit before, and it just wasn't happening. So this was my last resort. Now, being a bartender/server, guess who doesn't have insurance? This girl, that's who. And that shit cost about $300. All I can say is this shit better work, because I have been planning on picking up extra shifts to pay for it.
I have a bar regular who can be a pain in my ass sometimes (and he knows it, I tell him daily. We have that kind of special bar regular/bartender relationship. But I know I'm his favorite, so it's okay) But really when it comes down to it, he has a good heart and would pretty much do anything for anybody. So I put up with him and he puts up with me and, well, we get along just fine and have had some great/meaningful/heartfelt conversations with him and trust him with some of my secrets and he has never judged me. He knows how much I really want (okay, need) to quit smoking, so I was telling him how I took the first step with getting the Chantix but it would be awhile before I could actually pick it up because it just wasn't in my budget. I wasn't poormouthing. I completly planned on getting it as soon as I could, but he actually threw a 20 down and went around getting donations from other people he knew that happened to be there tonight. He raised me over $100 and promised me he would have the rest of it within a week.
Well, let's just say that my cynical little heart just melted. This isn't a creeper trying to hit on me. He is someone who actually cares about my health and wanted to help. It really meant a lot to me and it showed me that not all people are all talk and bullshit and no action.And that people you come across in this life, care about you more than you ever would have imagined. And that makes me smile. So, I know you will never read this, but thanks Joe. It really did mean a lot to me that you cared that much. And you're drink will never be empty or underpoured on my watch.
Okay, now to the bad. And these people fucking pissed me the fuck off and can suck a dick (this happened before the other thing did. Maybe if it hadn't I would have not been as pissed. But probally not).
Anyway, couple comes in with a baby. Sits it on the table. Whatever. I get their drinks. Take their order. The whole time they are snapping pics with their phones of the kid. I can tell they just want me to ooohhh and ahhh all over this baby. Just by the way they were looking at me, I new they wanted me to comment on what a sweetheart he was, how adorable, how precious. What the fuck ever. I have nothing agianst kids or babies. Maybe one day I'll have one. Who knows?In the past I've waited on kids that were so well behaved and sweet that my uterus ached.But I just was not in the fucking mood today. I'm not fucking Olan Mills taking pictures of your vagina dropping. I'm not going to go on and on about how fucking great it is that you as a couple have reproduced and decided to plop you fucking kid down on my table. You ordered you food. You got it. Your drinks never went empty and I was never at one time rude or short with you. I just didn't mention your fucking baby. It's not like he's ordering anything anyway and he's asleep so why the fuck do I need to acknowledge him? You have a baby. Big. Fucking. Deal.
Anyway so they finish eating and I ask them if there is anything else I can get them. No, they say, just the check. That would imply they didn't want dessert or anything right? I would think so, but apparently I was dead fucking wrong.
So they and the most precious child ever to be given birth too (how dare I not see that) leave. I go to pick up the credit card slip and ......fuck. They are some of those fuckers that like to leave passive agressive little notes on the slip. FUCK YOU. I would rather you just have the balls to go to the manager and complain than be little note writing pussies. You know I have to turn that shit in and you know the manager is going to see it and, well, it's just a dick move.
Basically the note said that I didn't offer them dessert (you fuckers said you were ready for the goddam check!) , didn't bring them bread plates (I totally fucking did), and that I didn't really conversate with them. Well, fuck me! What do you want me to do, sit down and fucking eat with your asses. You really didn't speak to me much more than to give your order, so its not like I was avoiding having any type of conversation with you. I was doing my job and waiting on other tables that obviously doesn't have issues of not getting self-entitled attention.You got everything you needed from me. Maybe you just hate each other so much as a couple that you need to bullshit with your server to have a nice meal. Maybe Superbaby didn't feel like talking to your asses either. Maybe your just passive agressive fuckfaces.
Personally, I think the reason they were so pissed off is because I didn't one time mention their baby and they felt that maybe, perhaps, they weren't fantastically special people for fucking and having a kid but simply normal people that happened to get knocked up. I know that's what really pissed them off. I could just tell by the way they kept snapping pictures of his ass everytime I walked by.
So they leave this long ass note (front and back) about how I need to be more personable. WTF? Most people I know when they go out just want to talk to the person they came out to eat with. Maybe I'm just crazy like that. I'm your server. Not a goddam clown to entertain your asses. I wasn't rude but I sure as hell didn't intend on bouncing a ball on my nose like a fucking seal to make your experience more enjoyable.I also have other shit I need to do. And I'm sure as hell not going to droll all over your crotchdropping, because frankly, I see babies everygoddam day and they all pretty much look the same. Oh and the kicker: They left me a four buck tip on $60, circled it and wrote "Generous tip." Fuck you. I hope your kid grows up to be a faboulous gay man that you disown because you just seem like the type of assholes that would do some shit like that. I then hope he writes a tell all book about how you are both assholes and makes millions of dollars and has a happy wonderful life far, far away from you dickwads.
Oh and by the way, I threw your slip away and told my manager I lost it (you didn't actually think I was going to let my ass get chewed out because of you, did you?). Also you can keep your "generous tip" and shove it up your passive agressive asses.
But I digress. Once again, thanks Joe. You made my night.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Ha Fucking Ha
For some reason every single one of my "guests" (that's what my manager would have me refer to them) last night thought they were one of the goddam Kings of Comedy. If you've been in the biz, I know you know what I'm talking about. Those dumbass cliche jokes every server/bartender has heard a million times. You ask them how they want the check. "Oh, we don't want it!", "You just keep it", ect., ect,. Very fucking funny asshole, now just tell me how the hell do you want me to spilt this motherfucking check up so you can get your unorginal, unhalirious ass out of here. Or the dipshits who say stupid shit like, "I don't have any money, guess I better wash some dishes". I actually hope you are kidding because we have a dishwasher for that shit and I will call the cops on your ass. I should actually call the cops anyway for you making me stand here one more second than I should, listening to you laugh at your own jokes and basically raping my ears with your annoying ass chuckle.
And then there is the dickheads that all but lick their fucking plates clean and when you go to clear it they say, "Oh, we just HATED it!", or "That was just terrible!" Oh, for fuck's sake, just hand me your goddam plate, piggy. I don't have time for this shit. And if you think you're even getting a courtesy laugh from me, fuck you. I'm taking the plate you just inhaled a chocolate cake off of and walking away, just so you look like the gluttonous asshole you have proved yourself to be.
Just shut the fuck up, pay your bill and leave. I don't need your stupid, unwitty ass comments that you would have no be no less than mentaly retarded not to realize I hear dumb shit just like it every day. You are not funny and I can only hope your dining companions see what a cheesedick you are.
We've heard every single "joke" there is, it wasn't amusing when anyone else said it. I can assure you, you saying it will not be an exception.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, will make me roll my eyes out of my head more than when I'm tending bar and I ask some drunk ass if he wants another one (Why I even bother, I don't know). They then proceed to say, "Twist my arm!" Okay, first off, fuck you. I'm not touching you for fear of catching your obvious dumbassness. And I highly doubt anyone has ever had to twist your arm or even imply there is still more booze in the county to get your ass to have another drink. Here's your fucking drink. Leave me alone, drink it and shut the fuck up.
Here's a tip. If you are one of those douchebags that makes these kind of "jokes", NO ONE thinks you are funny. If they happen to laugh, trust me, it's not because you have in any way amused them. They are just working for their tip. And shame on you for making someone work that hard for a tip. And if you have friends that pull shit like that when you go out with them, I totally recommend cutting them out of your life and defriending them on Facebook. Block the fucker too, they are that much of a douchebag.
And then there is the dickheads that all but lick their fucking plates clean and when you go to clear it they say, "Oh, we just HATED it!", or "That was just terrible!" Oh, for fuck's sake, just hand me your goddam plate, piggy. I don't have time for this shit. And if you think you're even getting a courtesy laugh from me, fuck you. I'm taking the plate you just inhaled a chocolate cake off of and walking away, just so you look like the gluttonous asshole you have proved yourself to be.
Just shut the fuck up, pay your bill and leave. I don't need your stupid, unwitty ass comments that you would have no be no less than mentaly retarded not to realize I hear dumb shit just like it every day. You are not funny and I can only hope your dining companions see what a cheesedick you are.
We've heard every single "joke" there is, it wasn't amusing when anyone else said it. I can assure you, you saying it will not be an exception.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, will make me roll my eyes out of my head more than when I'm tending bar and I ask some drunk ass if he wants another one (Why I even bother, I don't know). They then proceed to say, "Twist my arm!" Okay, first off, fuck you. I'm not touching you for fear of catching your obvious dumbassness. And I highly doubt anyone has ever had to twist your arm or even imply there is still more booze in the county to get your ass to have another drink. Here's your fucking drink. Leave me alone, drink it and shut the fuck up.
Here's a tip. If you are one of those douchebags that makes these kind of "jokes", NO ONE thinks you are funny. If they happen to laugh, trust me, it's not because you have in any way amused them. They are just working for their tip. And shame on you for making someone work that hard for a tip. And if you have friends that pull shit like that when you go out with them, I totally recommend cutting them out of your life and defriending them on Facebook. Block the fucker too, they are that much of a douchebag.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The Complete Fucking Over of Man's Best Friend
Okay, this doesn't really have anything to do with the restaurant biz. But I'm still pretty fucking pissed off about it, so I need to vent. On the way home from work tonight I stopped at a gas station off the highway to get cigs and saw a beagle running back and forth across the road.
I may not like people all that much but I just so happen to be a huge animal lover, so I got out of my car and basically chased this dog into a residental area. I lost track of him and pray he's okay. I then decided to drive around some more to see if I could find him, and I'm hoping he went back home. So I then get back on the highway and see that someone had hit a dog (he looked kinda like a cattle dog, so I know it wasn't the beagle). He was pretty much splattered in the middle of the road and cars were just whipping by him. Someone just hit him and left him there. That shit doesn't fly with me. I was fucking pissed the fuck off. What kind of heartless fuck just hits a dog and leaves him there to be flattened by more cars on a busy highway? A fucking no good dickhead asshole, that's who.I understand that sometimes dogs or cats run out in front of you and sometimes you run over them. It's an accident and accidents happen. I get that. But to just leave him there?!? That is just some fucked up bullshit. Get out of your goddam car. Pull it out of the road. Check for a collar. Goddam it do something, don't just leave it there and go on your fucking merry goddam way like you didn't just kill something!
So I pulled over, almost getting hit myself and dragged him over to the grass and covered him up with a trash bag. That's really all I could do, I was by myself and he was too heavy for me to pick up. One of my male friends (with a huge heart for animals too) is going to stop and get him after he gets off of work and bury him. This dog was probally someone's beloved pet and it was the very least I could do just to get him out of the way of oncoming traffic. I wish I could have done more. This was a living creature and deserved more than to become uncared about roadkill.
But the thing that really pisses me off is that cars kept driving by and watching me do this (I'm a tiny gal and it was nighttime) and not one fucking person stopped to help. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. Shame, shame, shame on you fuckers. All of you are heartless fucks and I hope someone hits your asses with a semi and leaves you to rot in the middle of the road. *
*Sorry for the rant, but I love dogs and I am really fucking pissed and outraged.
I may not like people all that much but I just so happen to be a huge animal lover, so I got out of my car and basically chased this dog into a residental area. I lost track of him and pray he's okay. I then decided to drive around some more to see if I could find him, and I'm hoping he went back home. So I then get back on the highway and see that someone had hit a dog (he looked kinda like a cattle dog, so I know it wasn't the beagle). He was pretty much splattered in the middle of the road and cars were just whipping by him. Someone just hit him and left him there. That shit doesn't fly with me. I was fucking pissed the fuck off. What kind of heartless fuck just hits a dog and leaves him there to be flattened by more cars on a busy highway? A fucking no good dickhead asshole, that's who.I understand that sometimes dogs or cats run out in front of you and sometimes you run over them. It's an accident and accidents happen. I get that. But to just leave him there?!? That is just some fucked up bullshit. Get out of your goddam car. Pull it out of the road. Check for a collar. Goddam it do something, don't just leave it there and go on your fucking merry goddam way like you didn't just kill something!
So I pulled over, almost getting hit myself and dragged him over to the grass and covered him up with a trash bag. That's really all I could do, I was by myself and he was too heavy for me to pick up. One of my male friends (with a huge heart for animals too) is going to stop and get him after he gets off of work and bury him. This dog was probally someone's beloved pet and it was the very least I could do just to get him out of the way of oncoming traffic. I wish I could have done more. This was a living creature and deserved more than to become uncared about roadkill.
But the thing that really pisses me off is that cars kept driving by and watching me do this (I'm a tiny gal and it was nighttime) and not one fucking person stopped to help. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. Shame, shame, shame on you fuckers. All of you are heartless fucks and I hope someone hits your asses with a semi and leaves you to rot in the middle of the road. *
*Sorry for the rant, but I love dogs and I am really fucking pissed and outraged.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Aren't You Clever, Asshole.
Hey, cheesedick fucktard that wants a drink. How very keen are you observations on life to notice that at the very end of the bar, no one seems to be waiting for a drink. And look, there's even a bartender down there making drinks. You wonder why no one else is down there ordering drinks. Don't they see there is no line? Oh well, you figure, you are just sooooo fucking much smarter than all of the rest of these dumbasses waiting for the other bartender in the middle of the bar to get your drink. You just walk your ass down here and start shouting out drinks to you little drunken heart's content. It's like the pretty little gal working down there is your own personal drinkslingin' fairy princess, God put her solely on Earth so you don't don't have to wait one extra fucking second for your precious draft beer.... Oh happy motherfucking day!!!
Actually, NO FUCKER! That's the "service bar", you dipshit. But you wouldn't know that because obviously you have never worked in the service industry a day in your life. And it is possible that you could be mentaly retarded not to notice that she is pulling tickets, making drinks and not making eye contact with anyone at the bar. The service bar is where a bartender is stationed to make drinks for the server's tables. And you standing there trying to get a drink from me is 1, interfering with me making the assload of tickets I need to get for the servers, 2, getting all up in the fucking way of said servers from picking up their drinks and mostly 3, pissing me the fuck off.
Don't walk your ass down to the service bar and try to order a drink, you clueless fuck. That's what the other 20 feet of bar is for. I hate you. Oh, and also, you are sooooo getting shortpoured for pulling that shit.
Actually, NO FUCKER! That's the "service bar", you dipshit. But you wouldn't know that because obviously you have never worked in the service industry a day in your life. And it is possible that you could be mentaly retarded not to notice that she is pulling tickets, making drinks and not making eye contact with anyone at the bar. The service bar is where a bartender is stationed to make drinks for the server's tables. And you standing there trying to get a drink from me is 1, interfering with me making the assload of tickets I need to get for the servers, 2, getting all up in the fucking way of said servers from picking up their drinks and mostly 3, pissing me the fuck off.
Don't walk your ass down to the service bar and try to order a drink, you clueless fuck. That's what the other 20 feet of bar is for. I hate you. Oh, and also, you are sooooo getting shortpoured for pulling that shit.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
You're a crazy fucking bitch, darlin'.
The other night a certified monkey bananas apeshit crazy bitch sat at my bar. Thought I'd share. So crazy bitch (CB) sat her ass at my bar right around five-ish, not long after we opened. First thing out of her mouth is how she just walked out of the place down the street because they fucked up her steak. Just got up, and walked the fuck out. Didn't pay or even bother to tell them why. So of course, I'm thinking, "Fuccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkk, this is going to be good, good times "
Okay, backstory. I'm from the South. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I was born there. If you take away the racism, homophobia and politcal dumbassness, it's really not that bad. Anyway, I have a habit of calling people "hon," "sweetie", "darlin'", shit like that. I really don't even realize I'm doing it half the time. Mostly I just do it because I can't (or don't want to) remember people's name for shit. And let's admit it, guys dig that shit and it helps my tips.
So I give the guy sitting two seats down from her a beer and ask if he needs anything else, sweetie. He didn't seem to have a problem with it. Then I ask CB, "What can I get you, hon?" CB then proceeds to lose her shit. Telling me how unprofessional it is. How her and her dad are from up North (I'm guessing her mom is a native of Planet Crazyasfuck), and they DO NOT do that shit up there. Then CB goes on to tell me how if a server calls her dad "honey" more than one time, well, no tip for that rude, horrible bitch. It took all I had not to tell her that her dad sounded like a supreme asshole but he probally homeschooled her himself and it would have just pissed her off more. I then tried to explain to her that I'm southern and it's kinda a southern thing. Also, I'M A FUCKING BARTENDER! You're not at a goddam bank, or in a courthouse or any place like that and I'm not wearing a suit in case you have not noticed. I'm wearing a (tasteful) shirt that shows off my tits. So lighten the fuck up. I can assure you, you are not an any way a "hon" to me. I'll be at the service bar telling the servers what a fucked up bitch you are.
Finally this twat's food comes out. Thank God. We actually got her steak cooked right and she didn't walk out. Unfortunaly, I really wish we had because she would not stop running her fucking gob.
She starts telling me how she is a teacher for a mostly African-American school. And how basically all of her students were facinated with with white people's hair and skin. And how when she had a sunburn, "they" all assumed she had a skin infection. And how they thought all white people were related. And a bunch of other crazy shit about "those" people (funny, I thought only redneck southern people said stupid shit like that. But whatever.)
At this point I didn't know who was crazier, her or me, for actually allowing myself to have a converstion with this silly twat, so I just walked away. Then she went on to talk to anyone sitting around who might make the mistake of making eyecontact with her. Point is, bitch was just flat-out weird. She still wouldn't let the whole "hon" thing go either.
Okay, I can understand if your server is creepy, overly flirtly or something and keeps calling you stuff like that. I might get annoyed to. But I don't do it in a creepy way, I can assure you. It just kinda comes out. Unless you've come in before and left me a shitty tip or pissed me off. You don't get the pleasure of me calling you anything but an asshole. But I have never had someone get all pissy about it. And I try not to call someone's boyfriend that if his girlfriend is sitting right there. I'd probally be more likely to call her "hon". And I don't really do it when I'm on the floor, just when I'm slinging drinks.
But all of this explaining is pointless. Bitch was just plain out weird. That trumps Southern and I was happy to see her crazy ass walk out the door.
On a related note, later that same night one of my everyfuckingday regulars told me he thought I cussed too much. I then replied that I thought he drank too fucking much. End of conversation. Me: FTW.
Okay, backstory. I'm from the South. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I was born there. If you take away the racism, homophobia and politcal dumbassness, it's really not that bad. Anyway, I have a habit of calling people "hon," "sweetie", "darlin'", shit like that. I really don't even realize I'm doing it half the time. Mostly I just do it because I can't (or don't want to) remember people's name for shit. And let's admit it, guys dig that shit and it helps my tips.
So I give the guy sitting two seats down from her a beer and ask if he needs anything else, sweetie. He didn't seem to have a problem with it. Then I ask CB, "What can I get you, hon?" CB then proceeds to lose her shit. Telling me how unprofessional it is. How her and her dad are from up North (I'm guessing her mom is a native of Planet Crazyasfuck), and they DO NOT do that shit up there. Then CB goes on to tell me how if a server calls her dad "honey" more than one time, well, no tip for that rude, horrible bitch. It took all I had not to tell her that her dad sounded like a supreme asshole but he probally homeschooled her himself and it would have just pissed her off more. I then tried to explain to her that I'm southern and it's kinda a southern thing. Also, I'M A FUCKING BARTENDER! You're not at a goddam bank, or in a courthouse or any place like that and I'm not wearing a suit in case you have not noticed. I'm wearing a (tasteful) shirt that shows off my tits. So lighten the fuck up. I can assure you, you are not an any way a "hon" to me. I'll be at the service bar telling the servers what a fucked up bitch you are.
Finally this twat's food comes out. Thank God. We actually got her steak cooked right and she didn't walk out. Unfortunaly, I really wish we had because she would not stop running her fucking gob.
She starts telling me how she is a teacher for a mostly African-American school. And how basically all of her students were facinated with with white people's hair and skin. And how when she had a sunburn, "they" all assumed she had a skin infection. And how they thought all white people were related. And a bunch of other crazy shit about "those" people (funny, I thought only redneck southern people said stupid shit like that. But whatever.)
At this point I didn't know who was crazier, her or me, for actually allowing myself to have a converstion with this silly twat, so I just walked away. Then she went on to talk to anyone sitting around who might make the mistake of making eyecontact with her. Point is, bitch was just flat-out weird. She still wouldn't let the whole "hon" thing go either.
Okay, I can understand if your server is creepy, overly flirtly or something and keeps calling you stuff like that. I might get annoyed to. But I don't do it in a creepy way, I can assure you. It just kinda comes out. Unless you've come in before and left me a shitty tip or pissed me off. You don't get the pleasure of me calling you anything but an asshole. But I have never had someone get all pissy about it. And I try not to call someone's boyfriend that if his girlfriend is sitting right there. I'd probally be more likely to call her "hon". And I don't really do it when I'm on the floor, just when I'm slinging drinks.
But all of this explaining is pointless. Bitch was just plain out weird. That trumps Southern and I was happy to see her crazy ass walk out the door.
On a related note, later that same night one of my everyfuckingday regulars told me he thought I cussed too much. I then replied that I thought he drank too fucking much. End of conversation. Me: FTW.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
An Open Letter to Table 34
Dear Assholes that sat at table 34 Tuesday night,
First of all, Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Now since that has been taken care of, let's start at the begining, shall we? Okay, well first off your incomplete table sat your asshole asses at my table. Fine, whatever. Two of you sat down while your third walked his happy ass over to the bar and proceded to mingle as if he was at a fucking cocktail party for the next twenty minutes. I got the two bitches that were sitting down a drink. At which point cocktail partys girl (or I think it was his girl, she looked a lot older than him-but who the hell knows) informed me he would be having a screwdriver.
On a related note, that just annoys the hell out of me anyway. Just say a vodka OJ. Ditto with other dickheads that order a CapeCod (vodka and cran) or a Cubra Libe (rum and coke, yes, asshole, we know you've seen the movie Cocktail. I know what the fuck it is). But I digress. Anyway I got their drinks, but I'll be goddam if I was walking my ass through the bar crowd to had deliver his precious drink to him. I sat it at the table and if it got watered down, well, fuck him. Anyway, like I said, after about twenty minutes of bullshiting with the drunken regulars he sat his ass down. Okay, finally we can get this show on the road and get you guys the fuck out of here, because I got about 45 more episodes of the show I'm addicted to on Netflix and I really need to get home to it. Little did I know the fuck me in the ass fun was just beginning.
They then informed me they were waiting for a fourth friend, who was notoriously famous for being late. Fuckfuckfuck. Are you kidding me? Why the fuck didn't you asshats just wait at the bar? No, that would be showing some consideration and that's just not how you roll, isn't it? Oh, and you won't be ordering until your notoriously famous late dipshit friend get here. Good times for me.
So after about more thirty minutes your asshole friend shows up. At this point I understand his problem with arriving on time. He needs about half an hour to emmerse himself in some type of God awful cologne. I'm thinking Stetson. Yep, defintely Stetson. It was so fucking strong walking up to him made me think I was at Gilley's from Urban Cowboy and I was pretty sure he was going to start calling me Sissy and ask where the mechanical bull was. It was so bad that the table behind them asked to move. I don't blame them. My eyes were starting to water too.
After about fifteen more minutes of catching up with each other and yet even more bullshiting, you decided to order. Thank God. Maybe you might get the fuck out of here before I start collecting social security.
You wanted wine. Fine. Here's your fucking wine. More fucking blahfuckingblahing. I get you food order. Which was like pulling teeth because you haven't stopped running your fucking cocksuckers long enoungh to look at the menu.
What are the sides? What kind of dressings do you have? Hey, dickwads, that thing that has been sitting in front of you for over an hour. It's called a menu. All the information you need is on it.
Okay, orders in. Salads out, which you then eat at a glacial pace. Oh looky here!!! It's your goddam food. Eat it . No, can't do that. That would mean you would have to shut the fuck up for more than five seconds. More wine. Fuck me. I'm never getting out of here. (Did I mention this is my last table?)
So after what seems like an enternity, seats one, two and three finish. I take their plates. Stetson man, who has at this point has stunk up the entire place has maybe three grains of rice left on this plate. I go to take it. He flips the fuck out. NO!!! I'm not done!!! Oh, for fuck's sake, their is nothing left of the plate! Fine, whatever, keep the motherfucking thing, take it home with you. I don't fucking care at this point.
Anyone want dessert? Of course you fuckers do. And coffee? You bet your sweet ass!
Around this point is when I had to sneak into my special stash of Xanax and take one because, wouldn't you know it, our owner, who is notorious himself for talking to tables about random bullshit decides its time to walk over and get into a politcal debate. FML. I'm just going to take a little nap in the dishroom and someone wake me when this shit is over.
Now at the point your bill is over $200, so at least I might make a little money. And that is what I'm here for, also I think the Xanax is kicking in, so go to the bar, eat a few olives and just tell myself its almost over.
Stetson man puts his credit card on the table, so I just hall my little ass over their and pick it up (while the owner is still running his fucking gob) and run it. Thank you, have a great night, yadda,yadda, yadda.
You are still making no move to leave, so after I see you sign the slip, I creep over and get it so I can run my check out.
Ten percent. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Nope. Ten percent for waiting for you asshole party to show up, nearly get knocked out by your stank and run my ass off. Ten fucking percent. Stetson douche paid, and I'm just hoping that your friends have no idea how much you fucked me. But who knows, maybe they might put up with you being late all the time because you pick up the tab. So you guys can eat a dick, too.
Again, let me say fuck you.
But their is some justice that will be had out of this whole ordeal. I'm usually the bartender. Tonight I just happened to be on the floor and was wearing my white oxford and khakis. I also had my hair pulled back, little make-up and my glasses on. Also no cleavage enhancing shirt that I usually wear when I'm behind the bar.
Stetson guy sits at the bar on the weekends (when I'm always behind the bar). By himself, I might add, because who has time for a notorious late fuck on the weekend? And he didn't recognize me.That I'm sure of. But I will remember that asshole. I NEVER forget the face of someone that fucks me over. And, Stetson man, you can bet you ass that you will now become the most short poured fucker this side of the Mason-Dixon line.
Hugs and Kisses,
The bartender/server who will be charging you eight bucks for tonic water
First of all, Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Now since that has been taken care of, let's start at the begining, shall we? Okay, well first off your incomplete table sat your asshole asses at my table. Fine, whatever. Two of you sat down while your third walked his happy ass over to the bar and proceded to mingle as if he was at a fucking cocktail party for the next twenty minutes. I got the two bitches that were sitting down a drink. At which point cocktail partys girl (or I think it was his girl, she looked a lot older than him-but who the hell knows) informed me he would be having a screwdriver.
On a related note, that just annoys the hell out of me anyway. Just say a vodka OJ. Ditto with other dickheads that order a CapeCod (vodka and cran) or a Cubra Libe (rum and coke, yes, asshole, we know you've seen the movie Cocktail. I know what the fuck it is). But I digress. Anyway I got their drinks, but I'll be goddam if I was walking my ass through the bar crowd to had deliver his precious drink to him. I sat it at the table and if it got watered down, well, fuck him. Anyway, like I said, after about twenty minutes of bullshiting with the drunken regulars he sat his ass down. Okay, finally we can get this show on the road and get you guys the fuck out of here, because I got about 45 more episodes of the show I'm addicted to on Netflix and I really need to get home to it. Little did I know the fuck me in the ass fun was just beginning.
They then informed me they were waiting for a fourth friend, who was notoriously famous for being late. Fuckfuckfuck. Are you kidding me? Why the fuck didn't you asshats just wait at the bar? No, that would be showing some consideration and that's just not how you roll, isn't it? Oh, and you won't be ordering until your notoriously famous late dipshit friend get here. Good times for me.
So after about more thirty minutes your asshole friend shows up. At this point I understand his problem with arriving on time. He needs about half an hour to emmerse himself in some type of God awful cologne. I'm thinking Stetson. Yep, defintely Stetson. It was so fucking strong walking up to him made me think I was at Gilley's from Urban Cowboy and I was pretty sure he was going to start calling me Sissy and ask where the mechanical bull was. It was so bad that the table behind them asked to move. I don't blame them. My eyes were starting to water too.
After about fifteen more minutes of catching up with each other and yet even more bullshiting, you decided to order. Thank God. Maybe you might get the fuck out of here before I start collecting social security.
You wanted wine. Fine. Here's your fucking wine. More fucking blahfuckingblahing. I get you food order. Which was like pulling teeth because you haven't stopped running your fucking cocksuckers long enoungh to look at the menu.
What are the sides? What kind of dressings do you have? Hey, dickwads, that thing that has been sitting in front of you for over an hour. It's called a menu. All the information you need is on it.
Okay, orders in. Salads out, which you then eat at a glacial pace. Oh looky here!!! It's your goddam food. Eat it . No, can't do that. That would mean you would have to shut the fuck up for more than five seconds. More wine. Fuck me. I'm never getting out of here. (Did I mention this is my last table?)
So after what seems like an enternity, seats one, two and three finish. I take their plates. Stetson man, who has at this point has stunk up the entire place has maybe three grains of rice left on this plate. I go to take it. He flips the fuck out. NO!!! I'm not done!!! Oh, for fuck's sake, their is nothing left of the plate! Fine, whatever, keep the motherfucking thing, take it home with you. I don't fucking care at this point.
Anyone want dessert? Of course you fuckers do. And coffee? You bet your sweet ass!
Around this point is when I had to sneak into my special stash of Xanax and take one because, wouldn't you know it, our owner, who is notorious himself for talking to tables about random bullshit decides its time to walk over and get into a politcal debate. FML. I'm just going to take a little nap in the dishroom and someone wake me when this shit is over.
Now at the point your bill is over $200, so at least I might make a little money. And that is what I'm here for, also I think the Xanax is kicking in, so go to the bar, eat a few olives and just tell myself its almost over.
Stetson man puts his credit card on the table, so I just hall my little ass over their and pick it up (while the owner is still running his fucking gob) and run it. Thank you, have a great night, yadda,yadda, yadda.
You are still making no move to leave, so after I see you sign the slip, I creep over and get it so I can run my check out.
Ten percent. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Nope. Ten percent for waiting for you asshole party to show up, nearly get knocked out by your stank and run my ass off. Ten fucking percent. Stetson douche paid, and I'm just hoping that your friends have no idea how much you fucked me. But who knows, maybe they might put up with you being late all the time because you pick up the tab. So you guys can eat a dick, too.
Again, let me say fuck you.
But their is some justice that will be had out of this whole ordeal. I'm usually the bartender. Tonight I just happened to be on the floor and was wearing my white oxford and khakis. I also had my hair pulled back, little make-up and my glasses on. Also no cleavage enhancing shirt that I usually wear when I'm behind the bar.
Stetson guy sits at the bar on the weekends (when I'm always behind the bar). By himself, I might add, because who has time for a notorious late fuck on the weekend? And he didn't recognize me.That I'm sure of. But I will remember that asshole. I NEVER forget the face of someone that fucks me over. And, Stetson man, you can bet you ass that you will now become the most short poured fucker this side of the Mason-Dixon line.
Hugs and Kisses,
The bartender/server who will be charging you eight bucks for tonic water
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Brandy, you're a fine girl
Not a lot of drama has been going on at the job. Which basically means no one has been pissing me off too much lately. So I thought I would take a minute to write about someone who shaped who I am as a bar bitch. Like I said, I got thrown into this whole bar thing and didn't know a Bud Light from a Jack Daniel. I was just out of Jesus College and the only time I had ever really been drunk was the time I drank too much AfterShock (anyone remember that shit?) when one of my friends stole some from her mom. At the time, I worked at a place that had a pretty solid happy hour crowd. The girl that trained me was named Brandy. First of all, I have never met a "Brandy" that wasn't cool as shit (except for my whore cousin, but I think she spells her with an "i" with a heart over it. But whatever.) Let me give you a basic visual of Brandy. She had curly hair, green eyes that always was mascared perfectly, and probally the most perfect set of teeth I've ever seen on a person. Oh, and she was about six feet tall. To this day, she is the best bartender I have ever seen step behind a bar. She owned that shit. If she was slinging drinks, goddammit, YOU were going to have a good time, YOU were not going to start any shit, and YOU were going to tip the fuck out of her because she was just that good. She was in a word, a badass.
And she was going to be training me to do something I knew nothing about. And I was scared shitless.
When I first started bartended, we used mini-bottles (guess which redneck state I'm from). And if you didn't know your shit, well, you had to answer to her and that was not something you ever wanted to do. And as much as I bitch and moan, I know I'm a kick ass bartender. I was trained by the 007 of them.
To see her behind the bar was really a spellbinding experience.She knew everyone's drink by heart and had it in front of them before they even sat down. And she made damn sure the rest of us did too. Even today, I can't remember people's name for shit. But If I've servered you more than twice, I will know what your drink for the rest of your life. It's one of the few things I pride myself on. Brandy trained me to make sure a drink was refreshed the second it was done, if they asked for it or not. I remember asking her one time, "What if they don't want another drink?" to which she replied, "Sit that shit in front of them, they will fucking drink it." And they did. She introduced herself to every single new person that sat at that bar, shaked their hands, gave them that smile and instantly that person became a loyal regular. It was amazing to watch.
Also, no one, and I mean, no one, fucked with her. You know that chick that started Coyote Ugly that is supposed to be so tough. Bitch had nothing on Brandy.If a guy big enough to win a Tough Man contest was getting a little rowdy, she would tell him to shut the fuck up. And he would, indeed, shut the fuck up. There was no fighting or bullshit on her watch. Someone once told me that she one time jumped over the bar and put a guy in a headlock because he was starting shit. I don't doubt it one bit. This was a girl that had a set of lips tatooed on her ass (no lie, I've seen it). "If you got a problem, kiss my ass."
And come closing time, she always did last call. She was ready to go out herself, and she would be goddamed if these people were going to hold her up. People didn't dick around, and they got the fuck out. She just had that kind of presence.
And I'm pretty sure, everyone was in some type of love with her. She could talk to anybody and she did something few people in life are capable of. She made people that came to her bar feel special. And if you behaved yourself, she would take such good care of you, that going to another bar would be like cheating on your wife. But don't get me wrong, she was always in control. She had a look in her eyes that said, "Fuck with me or my bartenders or the staff and I will fucking break your ass." And now, if anyone tries to fuck with me, my inner Brandy comes out and let's just say, very few people fuck with me. I'll always have her to thank for that.
And bitch made (well deserved) bank. I remember hearing a rumor one time that they wanted her to become a manager. To which she basically said "fuck that, I ain't takin' a pay cut". Bartending was in her blood and she was the best. She taught me a lot but the best thing about Brandy was, when work was done, work stayed at work. We were going out, going to have the time of our lives and you would probally have a pretty good story the next day.This is the girl that egged my Bible college ass to enter an amature night strip contest. To which I can proudly to this day say I won.
Okay, so now here's the kicker. I haven't seen Brandy in years, but through the grapevine I heard she was having a baby. Of course, I knew she would make a great mom. Even in all her badassness, she had some sort of maternal quality about her. And I have found that the a lot of people who were the wildest, something changes in them when they have kids and they are great parents. A former roommate of mine (another Brandy actually) would pull some shit that would literally make me jaw drop. But she always kept shit real, and had a "take me or leave me type" of attitude that I respect. She's now a PTA, minivan driving supermom to two great kids.
So I keep up with Brandy on Facebook and it is obvious that kid is her world. It makes me smile to hear the girl who would make Sorority bitches cry when she snatched their drinks out of their hands a 2 AM talk about taking her little girl to the park and planning her first birthday party. It also makes me smile for my future. Those old times I had with Brandy were good ole' days for me. And I know they were good days for her too, but I know as much fun as we had then, these are her best days. I hope to one day be as lucky.
Brandy is still bartending. It's in her blood, although I doubt she would have had any problems with any career she tried. Motherhood may have softed her up a bit, but I know she still has that look in her eye that says, "Fuck with me or my kid and I will fucking break your ass." Sometimes at closing time, I imagine her in her bar doing last call and telling everyone to get the fuck out of the bar. She has a kid to get home to and she'll be goddam if these people are going to hold her up. And you can bet your ass that they don't dick around.
And she was going to be training me to do something I knew nothing about. And I was scared shitless.
When I first started bartended, we used mini-bottles (guess which redneck state I'm from). And if you didn't know your shit, well, you had to answer to her and that was not something you ever wanted to do. And as much as I bitch and moan, I know I'm a kick ass bartender. I was trained by the 007 of them.
To see her behind the bar was really a spellbinding experience.She knew everyone's drink by heart and had it in front of them before they even sat down. And she made damn sure the rest of us did too. Even today, I can't remember people's name for shit. But If I've servered you more than twice, I will know what your drink for the rest of your life. It's one of the few things I pride myself on. Brandy trained me to make sure a drink was refreshed the second it was done, if they asked for it or not. I remember asking her one time, "What if they don't want another drink?" to which she replied, "Sit that shit in front of them, they will fucking drink it." And they did. She introduced herself to every single new person that sat at that bar, shaked their hands, gave them that smile and instantly that person became a loyal regular. It was amazing to watch.
Also, no one, and I mean, no one, fucked with her. You know that chick that started Coyote Ugly that is supposed to be so tough. Bitch had nothing on Brandy.If a guy big enough to win a Tough Man contest was getting a little rowdy, she would tell him to shut the fuck up. And he would, indeed, shut the fuck up. There was no fighting or bullshit on her watch. Someone once told me that she one time jumped over the bar and put a guy in a headlock because he was starting shit. I don't doubt it one bit. This was a girl that had a set of lips tatooed on her ass (no lie, I've seen it). "If you got a problem, kiss my ass."
And come closing time, she always did last call. She was ready to go out herself, and she would be goddamed if these people were going to hold her up. People didn't dick around, and they got the fuck out. She just had that kind of presence.
And I'm pretty sure, everyone was in some type of love with her. She could talk to anybody and she did something few people in life are capable of. She made people that came to her bar feel special. And if you behaved yourself, she would take such good care of you, that going to another bar would be like cheating on your wife. But don't get me wrong, she was always in control. She had a look in her eyes that said, "Fuck with me or my bartenders or the staff and I will fucking break your ass." And now, if anyone tries to fuck with me, my inner Brandy comes out and let's just say, very few people fuck with me. I'll always have her to thank for that.
And bitch made (well deserved) bank. I remember hearing a rumor one time that they wanted her to become a manager. To which she basically said "fuck that, I ain't takin' a pay cut". Bartending was in her blood and she was the best. She taught me a lot but the best thing about Brandy was, when work was done, work stayed at work. We were going out, going to have the time of our lives and you would probally have a pretty good story the next day.This is the girl that egged my Bible college ass to enter an amature night strip contest. To which I can proudly to this day say I won.
Okay, so now here's the kicker. I haven't seen Brandy in years, but through the grapevine I heard she was having a baby. Of course, I knew she would make a great mom. Even in all her badassness, she had some sort of maternal quality about her. And I have found that the a lot of people who were the wildest, something changes in them when they have kids and they are great parents. A former roommate of mine (another Brandy actually) would pull some shit that would literally make me jaw drop. But she always kept shit real, and had a "take me or leave me type" of attitude that I respect. She's now a PTA, minivan driving supermom to two great kids.
So I keep up with Brandy on Facebook and it is obvious that kid is her world. It makes me smile to hear the girl who would make Sorority bitches cry when she snatched their drinks out of their hands a 2 AM talk about taking her little girl to the park and planning her first birthday party. It also makes me smile for my future. Those old times I had with Brandy were good ole' days for me. And I know they were good days for her too, but I know as much fun as we had then, these are her best days. I hope to one day be as lucky.
Brandy is still bartending. It's in her blood, although I doubt she would have had any problems with any career she tried. Motherhood may have softed her up a bit, but I know she still has that look in her eye that says, "Fuck with me or my kid and I will fucking break your ass." Sometimes at closing time, I imagine her in her bar doing last call and telling everyone to get the fuck out of the bar. She has a kid to get home to and she'll be goddam if these people are going to hold her up. And you can bet your ass that they don't dick around.
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