No, seriously, what is wrong with people?
Do you drunk people who make out at bars actually think you look hot? You don't. There is no make-up or lighting team. This is a not a porno and it's not a big Hollywood moment. It actually looks more like recent news footage from Miami because I'm scared you might be eating that girl's face. Not to mention, I can see your hand up her dress and her leg over your lap, okay? I'm not fucking blind. Get a room! I would walk over and tell you but I'm afraid that anyone who goes near your barstool right now runs the risk of getting pregnant.
I understand that you're drunk and that you haven't had any attention in, like, eleven months or so. And this girl finally wants to have sex with you (maybe). I get it, but this little mating dance that you're doing with your tongues is grossing me out. Stop it! It's disgusting. Bars have dark corners for dark deeds, so why are you swallowing this girl's face in a brightly lit area right in front of my center beer tower? I've seen her, so maybe you do have some issues with your eyesight (beer goggles?), but that's no excuse when you've stationed yourself front and center. I mean, literally everyone in here can also see this horrendous display and it's not pretty... Can I expect to be compensated for the business I'm losing from your repellant act of passion? No!
Therefore, I'm instituting a new cure for "get-a-room-itis." Okay? It's called an HOURLY RATE. If you're not going to actually get a room, I'm going to start charging you $30 per hour to sit at my bar and suck face. You're disturbing my business, my mental health and my appetite. Just make sure you wash your hands before you hand me the cash, please.
7.03.2012
6.17.2012
NEWS FLASH: I'm not a stripper!
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:
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. |
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?
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?
5.30.2012
Watercolor Memories of Memorial Day Weekend
Last week was fleet week in NYC. You know what that means? Gigantic ships docked along the West side, an increased police presence at the piers and alcoholic uniformed men roaming the streets in search of a party every night. In honor of Memorial Day, I served countless cocktails at a military discount, 86'd two underage sailors, and even carded a few Blue Angels (how was I to know how important those dudes are??).
Most importantly, on my Sunday off, I attempted to challenge my own memory with an overabundance of alcohol. Isn't that what Memorial Day is all about?
By now I've almost pieced the entire weekend together... I didn't lose my phone, my wallet or my relationship. Unfortunately I may have lost some dignity, my dinner and my ability to stand up and function on Monday, which was followed by losing my regular Monday night shift. Also lost: the desire to put vodka anywhere near my mouth ever again. I will return to my better side of the bar, behind it!, this weekend.
I may or may not have mixed too many types of liquor, broken a few laws, and even urinated on the street (so I'm told) but I DID remember to tip my bartender. So learn from me, people. You can be as sloppy as you want to be. As long as you tip your bartender extra for putting up with your stupid ass.
Some other memories will have to remain misplaced. But what can I say? Mission accomplished.
5.08.2012
Let's talk crazy.
This one goes out to all the lunatics who are drawn to the bar like moths to a flame. Those nutty mother fuckers who walk in demanding drinks, lose their money, get into fights, talk loudly, lie pathologically, dance, laugh and cry - all within a matter of 60 seconds. This is how people get 86'd.
I'm not against hearing a sad story here and there. "I've never met my father." "My son thinks I'm crazy." "No one loves me." "My girlfriend beats me." Blah Blah Blah. You're depressing everyone in here. And you just tipped me one dollar. Now, I might not be a licensed therapist, but I deserve more respect than that. You just tortured me for a fucking hour with your personal tale of woe and now I can't even afford to buy myself a candy bar? How am I supposed to console my mind, which is now ravaged from how depressing you are? How unjust is that? And now you're playing sad songs on the jukebox and singing them to yourself while crying... Great. Now you've got to go. This isn't your bedroom and you're not a fourteen-year-old girl dealing with unrequited love. You're a fat, old, sad person who needs some fucking Prozac, stat.
More tales of crazy customers to come... If I get angry enough, I might even reenact them on camera...
5.02.2012
You're a creep.
Have you guys seen this video?
I have. Months ago. If you haven't, watch it. Then ask yourself if showing it to a hot girl as an icebreaker is a good idea. I'm gonna go with "no." But it happened. A random guy at the bar asked me if I'd seen it and then told me he thought human beings were innately sexual animals. First of all, duh. Second of all, that doesn't make you deep or smart - it makes you a creep. Here's a tip: leading your pick-up with a chimpanzee raping a frog is the worst idea ever. Next time, avoid anything that suggests rape, has to do with rape, or HAS "RAPE" IN THE TITLE you fucking moron.
The end.
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