6.17.2012

NEWS FLASH: I'm not a stripper!

So last night, amongst other hostile bar patrons, I served a customer who is a chronic no-tipper. We'll call him FUCKTARD. After he takes his change and puts ALL OF IT in his pocket, the following dialogue ensues:

Bar Girl: Hey, dude, where's my tip? Why do I always have to remind you to tip?

Fucktard: Hey, maybe if you show me a little titty, I'll tip you.

Bar Girl: I'm not a stripper. This isn't a titty bar. Get the fuck out of my face.

Fucktard: Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just drunk. Here's five dollars.

Bar Girl: Thanks. Now get the fuck out of my face.

NEW FLASH TO THE WORLD: Bartenders are NOT strippers. And those tips we earn are for hustling our asses off to make our customers happy and drunk NOT to get naked or grind on someone's business.  Now, I don't have a problem with strippers or escorts or anyone in the business of sex. Power to you. But that's not our jam, you feel me? You don't ask a janitor to cook you a steak medium rare or ask a car salesman for legal advice, do you? No. Because that's not their fucking job. And whatever fucktard does for a living - managing a McDonald's or cleaning NYU's facilities - I don't walk up to him and tell him he'll only get paid if he tailors a pair of pants for me. No. Cause that's fucking stupid.

Bartenders often get confused for other people and professions. Here's a short list:

  • Strippers
  • Hookers
  • AppleCare Geniuses (I don't know why your iPhone won't charge, okay? I plugged it in.)
  • Therapists
  • Priests (Seriously, I'm a Jew. Idiot. But whatever, you're forgiven.)
  • DJs
  • Slaves
  • Financial Advisors (It's more money cause it's stronger, dumbass. It's worth it.)
So, to avoid further confusion, let's take a look at dictionary.com's definition of bartender:

bar·tend·er

  [bahr-ten-der] 
noun
a person who mixes and serves alcoholic drinks at a bar.

That's it. Simple, right? I make hundreds of excellent drinks at lightning fast speed every night - and I do it with a smile - and for that, I deserve my tips. 





6.12.2012

Why the fuck is there change on my bar?

I can't even do laundry or fill a parking meter with this.
Why the fuck is there change on my bar? No, seriously. Who left this here? Did someone actually think this was a tip? And if so, what decade are they living in? It's 2012, not 1908. That's 43 cents. People who leave quarters are bad enough. But I can't even do my laundry or fill a parking meter with this!

Leaving change on a bar is even more disrespectful than not tipping at all. It's like people are trying to allay their guilt for not having an entire dollar or two dollar bills by tossing whatever's been rotting in their pocket at me. How very kind of them for confusing me for the desperate pan-handling crackhead on the corner. I must look stunning today.

Either that, or people are just trying to empty their heavy pockets, which is even worse. My bar is a place where you can sit down and respectfully relax after a long, sticky summer day... but it's not your dresser at home that you can clutter with your pocket contents! Out of an obsessive need to keep my bar clean I took the shameful time to pick up each of these pathetic little tokens... but I wish I caught this fucktard so I could throw them in his drink!

Today's lesson: Change is good in life but never on a bar. So don't do it.

6.09.2012

Summer Drinkternship Prep

Aaaaah, summer in New York City. The subways feel like saunas, the vinyl cab seats stick to your bare legs and the humidity feels like the city is giving you a big, sweaty hug. It's gross. You know what else is gross about June?

It's also the month when throngs of spoiled brat college students flock to New York City for a taste of grown up life. Right before they get pushed through the birth canal of graduation into the cold, harsh world they can pretend to be adults and try on real life for size with a summer internship!

And what's the first thing these geniuses do when they arrive in the big city? Put on their big boy clothes and hit up some of the city's 1500 or so bars. But don't be fooled by their professional attire. They are merely babies in their daddy's dress clothes.

Now, since rampant bar hopping is such an intrinsic part of their epic NYC summer, they should be prepared with the proper bar etiquette, right? Wrong. These Sigma Delta Stupids know nothing about how to behave in a bar. Therefore, I've taken it upon myself to draft up the Summer Drinkternship Prep curriculum here. Consider this your prerequisite, pledge.

1. Learn how to spend Daddy's money. Don't hand me your daddy's credit card and explain that it's not your name because it's your dad or stepdad or mom or friend's mom's credit card. No. I can't use it if it's not yours, okay? Ask Daddy to get a credit card issued in your name so you can have a proper drunken summer without any hiccups or better yet, just get Daddy's pin number and get some cash! This way, you don't have to explain to him that the charge from "Mo' Sloppy's Bar" was really just $175 worth of burgers and french fries... for your entire department. And don't forget to tip your bartenders. Anything less than 20% is an insult. We don't put up with your shenanigans for charity.

2. Practice acting like the money you're spending is actually yours. And the internship you're working is actually paying you. And you're wearing a suit because you're really important or going to be someone important. Oh, no wait, you idiots already do that.

3. Study your basic liquors and test what your body can tolerate. I thought by senior year you guys would know what your body can handle from all that binge drinking in freshman, sophomore and junior years. But, I guess sometimes you need a little more practice... so please get it in the month before you ship off to New York! Do you rage on rum? Get wobbly on whiskey? I don't care. Just figure it out before you're ten drinks deep on the wrong spirit in my establishment.

4. Do a test run of ordering drinks at a local bar. Don't ask me what you should drink. I don't know what you should drink. I don't even know you. I'm a bartender, not a fortune teller. Do your due diligence as mentioned above and then go to a local bar and try out different liquor and mixer combinations. Otherwise, I'm going to serve you Amaretto Sours all night and laugh myself silly.

5. Remember to forget every pick up line you've ever heard. Pick up lines make you look like an idiot. Maybe you are an idiot, but you're trying to seem cooler than you are, not tell the truth, right? So take this advice from someone with a vagina: Lines never work. I don't understand why men are still writing books on how to pick up women and what lines work best. The ones that work best are the ones you don't use. So stop trying so hard and you'll be less of a creep. And when you're less of a creep (and there's alcohol involved) people will naturally want to talk to you. Go with that.

6. Girls, please pay with cash. When you order eight lemon drop shots and then each want to pay for them separately on credit cards your bartender might turn into a ball of flames and burn you to the ground. It's just rude. If you're not going to tip us, at least make our lives a little easier, eh?