Top Ten Most Annoying Cocktail Waitresses

Posted on May 16, 2012 by Caveman
  1. The Greedy Bitch…The Greedy Bitch makes the top of my list because…well…I go to work to make money. She is the one that owes you $9.75 at the end of the night and tips you $9…instead of rounding it up to an even $10. If she has a slow night and only owes you a few bucks she won’t bother herself with tipping you at all. If you are lucky, you might receive a…I will catch up with you tomorrow night. Which of course will never happen because she is a Greedy Bitch.
  2. The Magician…The David Copperfield of cocktail waitresses. This is the one pulling off amazing disappearing acts all night. Nowhere to be found when people sit in her section, the guests after growing tired of waiting will approach the bar and ask where the server is. I have to apologize on her behalf, walk them though the cocktail menu and make their drinks. She will reappear just seconds after they return to their table with their beverages in hand…ask me what to ring in…walk over and drop the check…magically collecting the gratuity.
  3.  The Bad Driver…The Bad Driver is the one that has slung drinks for years on end…yet still has only a vague concept of what she does for a living. She still asks how to garnish a Corona and wonders why she can’t find Ketel One under gin on her computer. She is the one who inevitably asks questions each and every single fucking time she puts an order in. If you can’t figure out why I call them Bad Drivers…read my earlier post entitled…Bad Drivers.
  4. The Managers Girlfriend…Be careful around the Managers Girlfriend. Guess what she does when she gets off? She goes over to the managers house and talks shit about each employee she doesn’t approve of before fucking him…insuring her job safety. This is the only one on my list I actually make an effort to tolerate. You don’t have to go all the way to Tijuana to see a Donkey Show…just swing by my bar.
  5. The Garnish Enthusiast…The Garnish Enthusiast is the one who rings in her drinks and expects them to be made before the ticket pops out of the micros. As you pull the cocktail order, she will already be standing in front of you tapping a straw anxiously on the bar. The second you put ice in the glasses…she will start garnishing the cocktails as you attempt to make them…which is counter productive because it slows you down. Pour a little juice and soda on their hands and they will figure it out eventually.
  6. The Negative Nancy…The Negative Nancy stands at the bar and complains about how slow it is instead of hustling the few tables she has. The next night when you are slammed, she will be bitching all evening about how busy it is instead of sucking it up and making everyone some money. She makes the worst out of both situations.
  7. The Pigpen…The Pigpen never stabs her tickets. She expects you to clean up after her all night. She has no respect for you and will continue acting like a swine regardless of how many times you ask her to stab the drink tickets. Thankfully…I have come up with a quick solution for this one. Check out my post…The Cup Of Shame.
  8. The Caller…She’s the one calling in her drink order from ten feet away as she approaches the computer. If you ignore her…like you should…she will call them out again as she is ringing them in. I just walk away until I hear the chatter of the micros. Believe it or not…I know how to read. Shut the fuck up and ring your order in.
  9. The Chatty Cathy…The Chatty Cathy believes working is talking. She wants to know all about your life, how your day was, who you are dating…and how many times you managed to squeeze out a shit that morning…in turn, she demands you listen to all of her blah, blah, and fucking blah. If only you could connect rubber bands from her mouth to her arms and legs…she would be a very productive employee.
  10. The Rookie…The new girl. The Rookie. Bubbling full of energy and eager to perform the job with a positive attitude. Ready to please everyone. Don’t get your hopes up and don’t waste too much energy grooming her. In a few months…she will undoubtably graduate into one of the above annoying nine.
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Spirited Life

Posted on May 5, 2012 by Caveman

I started bartending before I was old enough to legally drink. I was a twenty year old busboy for a tiny restaurant in a small hotel. One of the bartenders quit unexpectedly and the manager pulled me out of the dining room and into the kitchen to give me rushed lesson in free pouring. Two minutes later I was tending bar. Almost twenty years later and I am still standing behind a bar. I used to think I would win the lottery, settle down with a rich woman, go back to college, start a million dollar business, a glorious opportunity would magically manifest itself upon me…something would just happen. I rolled the dice and they were fixed with reality. Now I embrace the profession with everything I have…emmersing myself in the spirit world. It would be stupid to do otherwise considering mixing drinks is how I am destined to make my living. We are shorthanded at the bar and I just finished up with a six night week. I spent my entire day off making infused vodkas for a private party…cookies and cream, asian pear-lemongrass, strawberry-ginger and kiwi-cucumber…and I am currently half way through another six nights in a row. So tonight…after a solid nine-hour bar bonecusher…I arrived at home ready for a laugh. This French parody on You Tube did the trick: http://www.youtube.com/watchv=k_uQcfDoQFI&feature=related

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Bar Maggot: The Anatomy Of A Shopper

Posted on May 4, 2012 by Caveman

Every honest bartender should be acutely aware of shoppers. Shoppers are the people your managers secretly hire to sit at your bar, pay for drinks in cash, and catch you slipping up. They are given access to your paperwork and computer records which they carefully audit after you go home in search of any foul play and to see if the beverages they ordered were rung in properly and closed out correctly. These bar maggots utilize a variety of entrapment techniques. They wait on the outskirts and approach you when you are busy or appear flustered and they will repeatedly pay with cash…hoping you realize this and decide to pad your tip jar. They will ask you to top off their wine or add a shot to their cocktail. They will also watch you like a hawk…srcutinizing every interaction you make with other customers and your cocktail waitresses. I have even witnessed some taking notes secretly under the bar. A shoppers job is simply to help you lose yours. I don’t steal…but I am human and occasionally make mistakes. To cover my ass, I have developed an almost eerie shopper radar over the years. I can usually identify the fly larva immediately based on the awkward energy they expel. So tonight…I got shopped. The grub came in the form of a personally unhappy twenty something rotund beast of a woman. She ordered a vodka tonic and paid with cash before quickly leaving. A few minutes later it reappeared asking for the same drink. This time she sat and watched me work for a while. I watched the low-life back…killing her with hospitality and probably coming off as a very chatty bartender. I love to put them on the spot…ask them what they do for a living, why I have never seen them in my bar before, have they been visiting other local bars, how long they are in town for, etc. The maggot finally vacated my premises. The second the shopper left I called every bartender in town describing her fat ass in as much detail as possible…giving them a heads up. She won’t be getting any of us fired around here. Fucking worm.

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Lord Of The Cans

Posted on April 25, 2012 by Caveman

A couple of years ago I used to watch these two old Mexican women picking cans and bottles out of the trash around my neighborhood. They went about it relentlessly for several hours each day…around five days a week…doing what it took to put food on the table. I realized I literally have what they work so hard for handed to me across the bar every time I work. I imagined what they would do in my position and have recycled from my bar since. I place a couple of boxes under the bar at the beginning of my shift and fill them up as the night progresses…carry them out to my truck when we close…stack them on my patio…load them all back into my truck at the end of the week…drive to the recycling center…unload the trash…and finally collect under ten dollars. It’s an arduous and dirty process to make a few bucks. My fellow employees think my habitual recycling is downright hilarious and have appointed me with various nicknames…Can Man, Sanford, 401Can Plan, etc. They can’t figure out why I go through the trouble. So tonight..Steve called in sick leaving me to fend for myself on a busy saturday night. I got absolutely crushed over the next eight hours…full throttle the entire time. I didn’t have a chance to take a piss, nibble on food in the back, or even take a sip of water. It took another two hours after last call…still moving at top speed..to clean, restock, order, and do the paperwork. I finally closed the bar around 3am and trudged out to my truck carrying two liquor boxes full of empty bottles and cans on my shoulder. Leftover warm drops of beer…and undoubtably random people’s saliva…slowly ran down my back. I thought to myself how much my coworkers would enjoy seeing this. They can go fuck themselves. The environment isn’t laughing. I do it because years ago two old Mexican ladies seeking out an income five cents at time showed me the true value of the beer I serve. It is a lesson in humility.

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Twelve Dollars

Posted on April 20, 2012 by Caveman

When I started Tales From A Bar around nine months ago…I had no idea what a positive influence it would have on me as a bartender. I have learned all kinds of jokes, quotes, trivia, new cocktails, random bits and pieces of cocktail history…and have met several established like-minded individuals who have been incredibly supportive. Check out their websites on my blogroll! I am also surprised at the therapeutic benefits that have arisen. When I have a crazy or weird night behind the bar…I can always smile and remind myself that I have an outlet to share these experiences. Thanks for reading! So tonight…my first customer ordered a chicken caesar salad and a water. What the fuck am I? A waiter? Do you see the forty or fifty bottles displayed behind me? They are not filled with water. Didn’t you read my last post where I clearly defined myself as bartender? Please go sit at a table you cheap bitch. Anyway…I ordered the salad and because we have a new chef…it took twenty minutes to arrive. She walked out just before it was finished. I ate it hastily in the back. When I called Donkey over with his magical managers card to comp the salad due to the kitchen falling behind…he kind of gave me a little shit…as if it was my fault. I apologized to the jackass, he waved his wand…and I enjoyed my full stomach. An hour later an elderly couple sat down and ordered two glasses of chardonnay along with a split order of a shrimp caesar salad. The salad arrived faster this time, but the shrimp weren’t completely cooked. They were furious and gave me the death stare until their salad was properly remade. Minutes felt like hours. I didn’t charge them for it and once again had to ask Donkey for a comp. When he asked me the reason…I told the fuckface to go talk to the chef because I am pretty sure they didn’t complain about the chardonnay. My last customer of the evening snuck out on his tab when my back was turned…two beers…twelve dollars. Fucking prick. I paid the alcohol marinated slippery piece of shits tab to save myself from having to further explain another persons actions to my Donkey of a manager. The energy bill caught up with me tonight.

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The Humble Bartender

Posted on April 18, 2012 by Caveman

The last week at the bar has thankfully been another smooth and easy one. I am almost beginning to miss those “special” customers I am so fond of writing about…almost. So tonight…I got a question I have been getting more and more frequently over the years: Are you a mixologist? I am never sure how to answer this. Yes, I enjoy making mixed drinks, I like to get creative and write my own recipes, I infuse simple syrup and vodka with exotic ingredients, I make emulsified foams and flavored whip creams and I am currently learning about spherification, deep freezing, gelification, and thickening techniques. I literally carry around scribbled cocktail recipes in my wallet. But does this make me a mixologist? What the fuck is a mixologist anyway? So I looked it up after work when I got home to the cave. A mixologist is defined as…someone who is skilled in mixing drinks. Mixology…the study or skill of preparing drinks. Bartender…one who mixes alcoholic drinks at a bar. There you have it. I am just a humble bartender. So for all of you self-appointed so-called mixologists out there who are standing at a bar and not actually working behind the scenes for Grey Goose or others…I dedicate this video to you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EB2aVzmPxxM  Thank god I am a bartender!

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Guerilla Tactics

Posted on April 12, 2012 by Caveman

One of the more enjoyable aspects of bartending for me is engaging in practical jokes and various pranks with other employees in the service industry. It’s important to incorporate a bit of fun into the job. A couple of months ago, I initiated a bar war with Gary…who tends bar across the street. http://talesfromabar.com/2012/02/psychological-warfare/ He retaliated by sending a pair of lesbians over who were at his bar inquiring for the “hook up” on cocaine. He hinted that I was the person to talk to and sure enough they came to my bar dropping Gary’s name and quietly asking if I was the snowman. Gary knows I have never touched the stuff in my life so he must have laughed his ass off at this successful prank. I was frustrated at first, but quickly regrouped and told the girls that they were unfortunately pawns captured by an inside joke…the best I could offer was Grey Goose and Red Bull. They didn’t laugh…and left. I had Steve cover the bar and covertly went across the street armed with a jar of honey and a few cream cheese packets. I applied the sticky cocktail liberally under the door handles on Gary’s truck. A few nights later he got me with my own trick…only he used sunscreen. I answered back by sneaking over the next evening with my busboy and putting five full size trash cans from the parking lot in the bed of his truck. We didn’t empty the trash into it…we just set them upright in the back. It looked fucking hilarious. So tonight…I finished up with an uneventful, slow and incredibly boring shift to discover my truck completely encased in wrapping paper with numerous pink ribbons streaming from the bumpers, antenna and windshield wipers. Gary is proving himself quite a formidable opponent. Do any of you have any ideas on how I can punk his truck? Please keep them within the realm of fun and games. I just want to get even…I don’t want to blow it up with an Irish Car Bomb!

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P’s and Q’s

Posted on April 7, 2012 by Caveman

The last several nights at the bar have been great. Donkey is actually turning into a pretty easy-going manager, Bart seems to have sobered up during work hours and has been holding his side of the bar down…however he still smashes an average of three glasses a night…my wrist hasn’t been assaulted by an over abundance of mojito orders, and the customers have been minding their pints and quarts. So tonight…a young couple sat in my corner of the bar…they were good-natured and the three of us hit it off instantly. It turns out the two of them were in town from Seattle for a few days taking a breather from the monotony of everyday life. I wined and dined them with several of my specialty cocktails and a few appetizers from the kitchen…conversing with them when time allowed. We genuinely enjoyed our time together and they sat with me for over two hours. I bought them their last round of drinks and we said our goodbyes. I remarked to Steve, my partner in crime for the evening, about what nice people they were and how I wished all of our customers…at least in some tiny way…could be that polite, respectful, and friendly. I opened up the checkbook and there was a two hundred and forty dollar cash gratuity sitting inside! Hundred dollar tips have become a rarity around my bar since the bubble popped in 2009 so I almost shit myself when I saw this. I handed Steve his half, we did the little fist tap thing…and closed up the bar. Thank you to the couple from Seattle for showing me a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s not all bad in the bartending world!

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The Clairvoyant

Posted on March 31, 2012 by Caveman

The unbelievably ridiculous and vastly annoying comments people make to bartenders never ceases to amaze me. It’s one of those jobs where it is an absolute must you are able to endure the onslaught of drunken absurdity night after night with a smile. You have to let it all roll off your shoulders or you will eventually end up cracking some moron with a bottle of Galliano. It really makes me envy service bartenders that work in a bar tucked away in the back of the house. They get to listen to their music and rock out cocktails for the servers in complete safety from the insanity of insatiable stupidity occurring out front. I have been getting these two all week: I want the best drink…I want a beer. I am a bartender…not a psychic. Do you see a fucking crystal ball perched on the bar in front of you? Would you care to specify what beer you want? We have more than one. And what exactly is…the best drink? For fucks sake…give me somewhere to start…wine, a shot, King Louis XIII…what the fuck are you talking about? Spit it out. So tonight…when I encountered this social catastrophe, instead of holding the customers hand along the path to their drink destination, I just stood there silently and looked them right in the eye like the dumb shits they are. After several seconds, they seemed to realize I wasn’t a palm reader and actually managed to spew forth an order I could work with. Thank god I am off tomorrow. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McMWRA4Tzw0

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Third Time’s A Charm

Posted on March 26, 2012 by Caveman

I think I am beginning to develop carpal tunnel syndrome from muddling Mojitos over the last several years. Thankfully, I have finally found a loophole in the construction of this cocktail. I was recently informed by a very experienced bartender and well published beverage writer…Miss Charming…that if you muddle the mint too much…you will actually extract the chlorophyll in the leaf, which has a very bitter taste. Now I put about two-thirds less energy into my muddler and have had fantastic results…meaning no complaints and a happier wrist. So tonight, just before last call…this guy rolls up to the bar wearing one of those beer shirts with 20 different bottles of beer printed on the front and a slogan at the bottom saying, “Beer, it’s not just for breakfast anymore.” He asks for a Mojito with cachaca instead of rum. Really? You are proudly displaying your love of beer on your clothing and you want an absurd version of a Mojito? What a nitwit. I made his Mojito and he immediately began bitching because it didn’t taste right. I explained that was because cachaca is harsher than rum and has a very different flavor profile. He insisted I had made it with tequila. I laughed and assured him that I had not. He continued with his grunts and moans and asked me to remake it. I told him that I would, but only if he stood right in front of me and watched the process to assure I wasn’t putting tequila in his beverage. We did our little dance…I handed him his new cocktail and he once again started whining. This time he insisted I had poured tequila into the bottle of Leblon Cachaca beforehand. I grabbed the drink off the bar, poured it down the sink, handed him a beer garnished with his bill and told him we were closed. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vzkxn1reBBk&feature=relmfu Enough is enough. Fucking prick.

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